


The Midnight Show

by SecretJungle88



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, another hurt/comfort because I can't write anything else, midnight shifts, quadriplegic patrick, radio host, radio station, steaming pile of garbage, teenage love because I can't write anything else, troubled family lives because literally i suck at original plots, vent fic, wheelchair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-02-29 14:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 60,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18779929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretJungle88/pseuds/SecretJungle88
Summary: Once upon a time, Patrick was the star child of the radio station. After years of working his way up the ranks, he was the star of prime-time radio, and loved by his entire town.And then there was the accident. And while Patrick was in rehab, they gave his job to someone else.The radio station is dark during the midnight shift, and it's the only slot they have avaliable for him. Hurt, and desperate for any semblence of who he once was, Patrick finds himself taking the offer.He just didn't expect that The Midnight Show was written for two people, and his new colleague was determined to make Patrick's planned radio-venting hours into something a little more light-hearted.





	1. Prologue

3, 2, 1. They were on air.

“Welcome back to 91.7, Alternative FM!” Joe grinned into the microphone, before letting his face fall again. “This is the 3pm drive home, with Patrick, Joe and Andy. But, uh, we don’t have a Patrick today.”

“Yeah, uh, we’ve had a call from his parents this morning and there’s been a bit of an accident.” Andy gulped nervously, fiddling with his fingers while delivering the bad news. “Patrick finished up the afternoon show yesterday and was riding his bike home from the station when there was an accident. We don’t know a lot of details at the moment, and probably won’t until the police finish up with their investigation. But there was an accident, and he’s in the hospital. We don’t know what the extent of the injuries are, but from what we’ve heard, he’s not in a good place.”

Joe put a hand on Andy’s reassuringly, as he picked up the conversation. “We’ve had a lot of people calling the station today after a few rumours have been spread around the high school, but we just want to assure everyone that you know as much as we know. This probably wasn’t a murder attempt, he’s not dead, and we’re just going to have to wait for more news as to his condition. His family have asked for some quiet at the moment, as you can imagine they’re going through quite a lot. But knowing our Patrick, it probably won’t be long until he’s back in the studio. We’ll be sending our love and support to him and his family at this difficult time, and we’d like to thank everyone who has already called in. We’ll provide updates whenever we can. Here’s Bleed Magic, by I Don’t Know How But They Found Me.”

And then they were off air. Both boys breathed a sigh of soft relief, and chose to ignore the blinking lights from the phone lines. 

The afternoon show was this station’s most popular, but both of them knew that it wasn’t because of them. Patrick was this station’s shining star. He was lovable, witty, clever and had impeccable music taste. He’d turned this station from a dingy old studio into the town’s most popular, and most people tuned in just to hear some of his originals that he would bring in on a USB from time to time.

He’d started volunteering at the station when he was 12, an eager-faced middle schooler who wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the music library that the station housed. After impressing a few of the right people when they came in to talk to him, he found himself hosting the night time show by age 13. And when listener levels slowly started to increase as soon as he hit the studio, the executives found themselves with the perfect radio personality on their hands. He went from the late night, to the dinnertime shift, and now, at age 16, he was the star on their prime-time afternoon drive-home show.

It wasn’t driven by a desire for fame, or for a career in radio. Patrick had made his way through this station based on passion alone. He just had something about him, the way he talked, and the way he managed to hand-make the playlists to satisfy every listener. His own music, too, was breathtaking, and the station always got hundreds of calls whenever he played one of his demos. Joe and Andy were part of the show too, and took part in the conversations, but they were aware that they weren’t who the listeners were tuning in to hear.

Patrick was the golden child.

And that’s why it was a bit concerning that he’d been hit by a bus when riding his bike home from the station the night before. That’s why they were so worried, not only as friends, but as colleagues, when they found out that Patrick was in emergency surgery. And judging by the shape that his bike was in, things weren’t looking too golden.


	2. There's Always a Downside to Sleeping In The Living Room

_The brats had taken his fucking chair._

Okay, so Patrick had slept in. There was nothing wrong with that. It was actually quite nice, considering the lack of sleep he’d had over the past few days. His Mom would probably be quite pleased. But with his sleep in, came the fact that everyone else in the house had woken up before him. Most importantly, the two 7-year-olds with dirty blonde hair that thought that his mobility aide was the most entertaining toy that they’d ever seen.

“ELI! ELLA! WHERE’S MY CHAIR?!”

He could hear some giggles, but no audible response. Brats. Taking a breath to steady himself, he pushed his torso up onto his arm and winced from the pain as he tried again. “ELI! ELLA! MOM!”

When no response came, he groaned and let himself flop back down onto the bed. It seemed everyone these days was ignoring him. Even when his bed when was in the lounge room, the most central room in the house, everyone had grown tired of his cries and just left him screaming into the empty halls. Well, at least that’s what it felt like to Patrick.

Patrick hadn’t always had his bed in the living room. That was a new addition to the household. His old bedroom was one that was the very essence of himself. A beautiful queen sized bed, his record collection, his vintage band posters. His guitar.

But he couldn’t get up there anymore. He couldn’t get to any of the bedrooms anymore. Hell, Patrick couldn’t even make it up one step, let alone two flights to get to the second story. He was confined to wherever he could get to in his wheelchair, and in his house, it wasn’t much. So these days, he found himself going from the kitchen, to the living room, then to the downstairs bathroom, and then back to the living room. Well, he _could_ , as long as he had his chair. And right now, it was nowhere to be seen.

“Guys! This really isn’t funny!” Patrick tried to blink away the tears that pricked at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry over something as stupid as this. His Mom would talk some sense into them, she always did. She’d managed to explain to them that their half-brother was broken now and needed some special devices because his legs didn’t work. But it didn’t stop them from being absolute fucking brats.

He’d only been home a week. One week of this. Waking up, yelling for Mom. Mom helping him get dressed. Mom helping him into his chair. Mom brushing his hair and helping him with his shoes and trying to get his half-siblings to treat him with any amount of dignity. One week of sleeping in the living room and trying to pretend that this wasn’t going to be the rest of his life.

Okay, to give his Mom some credit, the living room thing wasn’t permanent. They were moving house, to a one-story thing where Patrick would be able to have some sort of independence. But even though they’d found the house, there needed to be renovations. Special bathrooms, wider door frames, all sorts of things adjusted for this new disability. They just needed to finish up the renovations, and then they were going to move and Patrick was going to have his new room and he could put his posters back up and finally hide away from the brats. 

But that house was going to take time. Patrick had to deal with what was in front of him now. He turned his head on his pillow, and tried to see if there was anyone around. From the window, only one car was in the driveway, so someone was out. There should still be someone here, if the kids were here. And his Mom wouldn’t leave him alone, right? She would have known that she would need to be here to help him when he woke up. So Paul was probably out. That was fine by Patrick.

“MOM!”

No response, once again. He glanced towards the staircase, but was only able to grab a feeling glimpse as his neck wouldn’t bend that far back. He prayed his mother wasn’t in the shower or anything. He needed her, if not to get his chair back, at least to just help him sit up.

It was a complete, C-7 spinal injury. Or better known to pretty much everyone else on the planet, quadriplegia. Although he didn’t _feel_ like a quadriplegic, he assured himself quickly. Patrick had worked hard in rehab, to regain some control of his arms. Sure, they ached constantly, and sure, his hands were still a work in progress, but he could move them. And he could move them well enough that he could push himself around in his chair, and he could feed himself now. There were a lot of things that he still couldn’t do, but being able to hold a fork and write his name (albeit absolutely terribly) was a start.

But from the armpits down, he wasn’t much use at all. He couldn’t even sit up anymore, his body would just slump over and his head would be dragged with it. Everything he owned, from his wheelchair to the car seat that he refused to use, was designed to support his trunk. It seemed everything had straps, or some sort of support to keep him stable. 

At first, it was terrifying. As a kid who struggled with claustrophobia, constantly being squeezed or being held down by all sorts of things was enough for him to beg to be allowed back to bed. But rehab had taught him a lot of things, and slowly he’d gotten used to it. He needed to be supported. That was the end of it.

“MOM!” Patrick called out again. “ELI! ELLA! PAUL! ANYONE!”

Creaking floorboards. That meant someone was on the stairs. Patrick leaned back as far as he could manage, only to feel his heart drop. Paul. With only one car here, and Paul here, that meant that Mom wasn’t home. Uh oh.

“Morning.” Paul yawned, before taking another sip from his coffee. “How’d you sleep, champ?”

“Where’s Mom?” Patrick didn’t want to wait around.

“She went to do some groceries while you were sleeping.” Paul shrugged. “She should be back soon enough.”

_Great._

“Where’s my chair?” Patrick asked a little more nervously, trying and failing to pull himself into a sitting position. “I, I left it here last night, and it’s not here.”

“The kids probably have it.”

Patrick blinked. “Can you, can you go and _get_ it? It’s not a fucking toy, Paul. I mean, I need it, and I really don’t want them playing with it. I mean, if they break it-”

“They’re not going to break it.” Paul almost laughed. “Patrick, they’re seven. They’ve been wanting to at least have a go since the moment you got home. And you were sleeping, it’s not like you could use it anyway.”

Patrick stared at his stepfather in disbelief, before tightening his lips. He wasn’t going to win this argument right now. His Mom could talk to him, and the kids. But she needed to get home before that could happen. Patrick swallowed his pride, and sighed.

“Well, I’m awake now, and I _really_ need it, so could you please go and get it for me?”

Paul sighed, but thankfully left. Patrick relaxed, and rested his head back onto his pillow. It would all be okay, he just needed his chair. And after about 10 minutes, Paul returned with chair in tow.

Patrick hadn’t seen his Dad in a long time. A military man, David Stump was stationed here, there and everywhere. Not that he was particularly close with his son, but he did send birthday and Christmas cards, and paid his child support. But the best thing about having a military father, was the health insurance.

Patrick’s chair was living proof of that. It was top of the line, the best of the best, and custom-made for Patrick’s exact requirements. A smooth, ultra-light carbon frame, and the seat cushions were designed to balance his weight to prevent pressure sores. The backrest curved slightly, hugging his torso and holding him upright in a position that was stable enough that he wouldn’t fall without being overly intrusive. 

It was an incredible improvement from the clunky hospital chairs that he’d become acquainted with first. Without this chair, Patrick doubted he would be out of rehab. It just made things, easy, he supposed. Nowhere near as easy as before he’d been hit by a literal bus, but it was nice enough for now.

“Not broken.” Paul smiled, brushing the seat cushion clean once he parked it next to the bed.

“Yeah.” Patrick breathed, propping back up onto his elbow. “Hey, Paul, can you, uh, can… you, uh…”

“Yeah?”

“I, I can’t transfer on my own yet, I just, I need…” It was awkward, and Patrick winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Of course Paul didn’t want to help him transfer. But it was either that, or lie in this bed until his mother got home.

“Oh, right, yeah.” Paul mumbled, sounding as enthused about the situation as Patrick felt. “So, you, uh, how do you wanna do this?”

Why did Mom have to go for groceries this morning? Paul and Patrick had never been the best of friends, and Patrick had tolerated him for years because his Mom seemed to like him. Then there were babies, and then there was a wedding, and Patrick still tried to avoid him. It generally worked, because Paul just seemed to tolerate Patrick as well.

But Patrick couldn’t _just_ tolerate his stepfather anymore. Patrick relied on him, like he relied on everyone else around him. He needed help, for the most basic things, and it was looking like he was going to have to get that help from the guy who simply tolerated him as his wife’s son from a previous marriage.

“You gotta, you gotta sit me up.” Patrick mumbled hesitantly, loosely grabbing Paul’s hands for support.

“Okay…” 

Paul’s hands weren’t soft and caring like his mother’s were. He also literally put his hands under Patrick’s armpits like he was a literal baby, which he really didn’t appreciate. But he was up now, and Patrick exhaled slowly as he manually moved his legs, one by one, off the bed, and slowly shuffled to the edge. And then Paul let go.

“NO!” Patrick couldn’t keep his panic inside as he felt himself start falling forward. “PAUL!”

He was almost on the ground before Paul caught him, and once again, Patrick tried to blink away his tears as his stepfather slowly brought him back up. “I’m not going to drop you. Don’t worry.”

“You, y-you can’t let go.” Patrick whispered. “I can’t, I can’t support myself. Uh, just, keep one hand on me, and then use the second hand to lift the arm rest up.”

Okay, this was how he needed to instruct Paul. Step by step, with _very_ detailed steps.

“I, I have a transfer board. I think it should be just under the bed, and, and then you put that between the chair and the bed as like a little bridge thing, and I, I can shuffle across it. Just don’t let me go.”

“I’m not going to let you go.” Paul said, leaning down to the ground and letting Patrick slide forward while he found the board. “Stop freaking out.”

_You’d be freaking out too, Paul, if you couldn’t fucking move._

“Okay, okay, so then, I’m gonna try and shuffle, but you gotta help me, okay?” Patrick mumbled. “Just, yeah.”

It was excruciating. The pain ran across his shoulders as he attempted to shuffle, but didn’t dare mention anything to Paul. He just focused on the end goal, and once he found himself sitting on the seat cushion, he slowly gave the rest of the steps to Paul to finish up.

“So, so you gotta put the armrest back down, yeah, and then do the seatbelts up, and then tighten the back rest so I don’t fall, and then fix my feet up on the footplates, and then undo the break on the wheel, and we’ll be good to go.”

“Fucking hell.” Paul muttered under his breath.

Patrick sighed. “It’s not a lot of fun for me either, don’t worry.”

Paul was silent, knowing that he’d been caught. But Patrick knew that he wasn’t about to apologise for his words. “C’mon, let’s go make you some breakfast.”

 

\---------

 

Patrick had never been more relieved when his Mom walked through the door with arms full of groceries. 

He wasn’t any help, bringing the groceries in. He watched the brats run forward to tackle her in a hug, and then watched as they all went out to the car and brought in the bags. He just sat silently, out of the way, until she was finished and could help her son.

Patrick had helped raise the brats. He was the strong one of the family, he was the one who did most of the chores, helped his Mom where he could. Did all the laundry. Made the dinners. Nowadays he couldn’t even open the fridge. He was the baby of the family now, confined to this eternal stroller.

“How’d you sleep, Rickster?” Patricia asked, glancing up from packing the groceries away to smile at her eldest.

“Fine.” Patrick mumbled. “The kids took my chair.”

“No, Eli took the chair!” 

“No, Ella took the chair!”

“It wasn’t me, Mom!”

“Guys, what have I told you? That’s not okay. We don’t touch Patrick’s wheelchair. Okay? He needs that to get around, and if you take it, then it’s not very nice. It’s really mean, and it hurts him a lot. Say sorry.”

“But, but Daddy said we could take it as long as we put it back when we were done!” Eli quickly added, and Patrick’s blood boiled.

Patricia was silent for a second, but recovered. “Well, Daddy shouldn’t have said that, and it’s still not allowed. We don’t touch Patrick’s chair, and we don’t climb on Patrick, okay? He doesn’t like it.”

“Okay Mom…”

“Now go say sorry to Patrick for taking his chair this morning. That was very mean.”

And then Patrick had both the brats on him, mumbling apologies that meant nothing and hugging him. Ella tried to climb onto his lap, again, but Mom shook her head in disapproval and the brats snuck off to whatever demon swamp they were playing at before.

“Sorry, Ricky.” She sighed, sitting down beside him. “They don’t understand. They’re young. It’ll take time.”

“I get that.” Patrick mumbled. “But you gotta sort Paul out because he can’t be telling them that it’s fine if they touch my stuff. It’s, it’s-“

“It’s yours. I know. I’ll talk to him.” She assured him, rubbing his shoulder   
affectionately.

Patrick nodded slowly, letting out a long sigh. 

“Have you heard from your friends?” She asked, the hope visible in her voice.

“Nobody from school.” Patrick shrugged. “Andy and Joe are alright though. I, I was thinking that maybe I could swing my the studio, maybe after physio today? I just, I need to go. They need to see… this.”

“You.” She corrected.

“Mom-“

“No, Ricky. The chair hasn’t changed who you are. Stop framing it like that. They’re going to be delighted to have you back. Surely that other guy isn’t getting nearly as brilliant ratings as you. What’s his name?”

“ _Gabe_.” Patrick muttered.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure Gabe isn’t going to have a job for much longer.” She smiled. “It’ll be really good for you, to get back into your music.”

Patrick sighed. “I don’t know if I’m… _ready_.”

“Of course you’re ready!” She beamed. “You’re home, the new place should be finished soon, and it’s much closer to the station, and you’re doing great!”

“My breathing.” Patrick mumbled, putting a hand on his chest. The injury had affected more than just his legs and torso. It effected everything inside, too. And that included his diaphragm, and his lungs. Even this simple conversation was winding him, and he tried to keep his voice quiet to avoid straining his broken body.

“Maybe that’s something we can talk to your doctor about, hey? We’re going to see him on Monday. We just need some strategies for that, and I’m sure it’s something you can overcome. I don’t want you withdrawing from everything you love, Rickster. You’re too brilliant to be locked away in this house all day.”

Patrick sighed and forced a small smile at his mother. Mom was still Mom. Endlessly positive and endearing.

“I’m going to do a touch of cleaning up and then we’ll head in.” She stepped up from her chair and back into the kitchen. “And we should make it to physio at 3. Do you want me to put the TV on for you?”

“It’s-“ Patrick sighed. “Yes please.”


	3. A Whole New Angle, Quite Literally

It had been 3 months since Patrick had last been here.

3 months since he finished up on the air, grabbed his bag from the locker room and grabbed his bike from where he parked it outside. 3 months since he had made the stupid decision to ride home that night, even though it was foggy and he could hardly see 3 feet in front of him. 

And oh, god, it felt weird.

It was always weird when Mom took him to the station, as well. He’d been coming here on his own since he was 13, considering that it was only a short bike ride away from his house if he took all the right shortcuts. His Mom hadn’t brought him in a very long time. He was only young, he knew that, but he was treated as an adult as he walked through the studio doors. Here, he wasn’t Patrick Stump, the high schooler. He was Patrick Stump, renowned radio host and musician.

But he was neither of those things today. Today he was Patrick Stump, the kid in the wheelchair. And as much as the idea of being that kid made him want to throw up, it was the only thing he was now. It was time to go and introduce his colleages to the new him.

Patrick sat in silence as his Mom got out and grabbed his chair from the trunk of the car. Travelling wasn’t ever going to be easy for him again. Sure, he’d spent the last week going to and from physio, but coming here made it real. This was actually happening. He wasn’t going to just get over it and wake up from this horrible fever dream.

He was meant to use a car seat, it was a mat fitted to the passenger seat with a variety of extra seatbelts to hold him upright and stop him from flopping over. As such, Patrick refused to use it. He was already confined with straps for 97% of his day, the car seat was just a step too much for him. Instead, he sat in the back seat of his Mom’s car, his body slumped against the car door for support and his head resting on the window. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he’d take it a million times over the alternative.

But it did make his transfers a little awkward, as his Mom dove to catch him as she slowly opened the car door. Then it was just more painful shuffling and apologetic mumbling, and then he was back in his chair.

“Do you want me to come, or just stay out here?” his Mom offered, fixing his feet up.

“I’ll, I should be okay. I can call you if I need you.” He mumbled, tucking his phone under his leg.

“Of course honey. Take your time. You’re going to be _fine_. Stop stressing!”  
That was Mom. Patrick forced a smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

The building was a few stories tall, and the studios were on the 3rd floor. The staircase was normally the go-to, but there was an elevator around here somewhere… there! They’d tucked it away, hadn’t they? But that was fine. Push the up arrow, wait for the doors to open, quickly scoot in, select the floor, wait, scoot out, and success!

Patrick had successfully managed an elevator on his own for the first time. It was a brief sense of accomplishment, before the situation came crashing back down as he glanced around the studio lobby. 91.7 Alternative FM. His home away from home. His passions, his one true love.

“Patrick!” Meagan smiled. “You’re back!”

Meagan had been the station’s trust administrator for years. She was the one who fought for 12-year-old Patrick to be allowed to volunteer, even though he was technically still a few years too young. Patrick had long admired her, she was a kind woman who wanted nothing more than to help everyone at the station and bring in the cookies she baked on the weekends.

Patrick smiled. He was glad to see her. She’d sent him flowers in the hospital and cooked dinners for his Mom and the brats when he was in the ICU. “Yeah, I figured it was time I showed my face.”

“We’ve been missing you to death!” She smiled, as Patrick made his way to her desk. “When’d you get out of rehab? I wasn’t expecting you for a while.”

“Last week.” Patrick shrugged nervously. “I, I got it cut short. I have to go back every day for physio and stuff, but I’m at home now, so it’s better.”

“Oh, that’s great sweetheart, I’m glad you’re home. Do you want a cookie? They’re fresh.”

Patrick chuckled. Same old Meagan. “No thanks, I’m right.”

“Are you sure?” She asked teasingly. “They’re _snickerdoodles_. I know you want one.”

“I, uh, doctor says I have to be watching my calories at the moment, sorry.” He apologised. “Next time.”

“Oh, right. That’s all good, I’ll have to try and make you some sugar-free ones, hey?”

“Thank you, Meagan.” He blushed.

“That’s all good sweetheart. Anyway, I think Joe and Andy should be in soon, but if you want to go talk to Mark, I think he’s in his office. Brendon and Ryan are on the air at the moment, and they’ll finish up at 3. Are you going on today?”

Patrick quickly shook his head to that. “No, no, not yet. I, just came to say hi. I don’t know about the show yet. And I’ve gotta run, I’ve got physio at 3 I think.”

She nodded understandingly. “That’s all good.”

“PATRICK’S HERE!”

Patrick couldn’t help but smile at the sound of Joe’s voice, and turned to face his friend. “Yeah, I figured I’d drop by.”

Joe and Andy looked… the same. They still looked like themselves. Andy was the eldest of the three, an experienced radio host who knew his way around the control panels. Joe was 18, finishing up at school, and the comic relief to their panel. And then there was Patrick, who hadn’t been on the air in a number of months.

They were tall. Patrick had never been tall, but not being able to stand up severely decreases your height. He’d gotten used to looking up at doctors and his Mom and all, but this was _very_ strange. He was seeing his friends at a completely new angle, and by the way that they were looking down at him, they seemed to be having a similar thought.

God, this was uncomfortable. 

He hadn’t seen them since the accident. His Mom said that they’d visited him in the hospital a few days after the accident, but he was unconscious during that time. Sure, they had a group chat, and he’d been keeping up with them, but they hadn’t _seen_ the new Patrick yet.

He knew it was going to be awkward the first time, but that didn’t mean that he was prepared.

“Wow. You, uh, that’s, uh, a nice rig.” Joe stammered awkwardly, brushing his fingers on the wheel rims.

“Yeah.” Patrick swallowed nervously. “Dad has good insurance.”

“Nice.” Joe nodded, before scratching the back of his head. “This is awkward.”

“It was gonna be, no matter what.” Patrick admitted, scratching his arm. “Look, just, ask your awkward questions and we’ll get over it and, yeah.”

Andy chuckled. “We’re just glad to have you back, Stump. This doesn’t have to be awkward.”

“Your arms work.” Joe stated, his eyes on Patrick’s hands. “I thought you broke your neck…”

“I did. It’s, it’s uh, C-7 injury.” He explained, before pausing. He’d become an expert on spinal injuries over the past few weeks, but needed to remember that not everyone else was. “Lower neck. I, I couldn’t move my arms for a while, but physio, and now, yeah. They’re not what they used to be, but, yeah. Shoulder’s down is dead, but I got my arms back.”

“That’s dope, dude.” Joe nodded uncomfortably, struggling to make eye contact.

Andy gently elbowed him in the side. “Stop being weird. We’re all good.”

“I’m just asking!” He defended.

Patrick sighed and glanced down at his lap. He needed to change the subject.

“How’s the station been holding up?”

“It’s been quiet without you.” Andy smiled. “We’re looking forward to having you back. Listeners missed you. There’s uh, like a big pile of get well cards and stuff in Mark’s office, I think. But we’re doing okay, the Afternooner’s suffered a little but we’ve been building our ratings back up, so it’s been pretty good. Are you back at school yet?”

“Still in the rehab process.” Patrick sighed. “There’s about another month of that, which is where I have to go back there daily, but then it’ll go down to twice a week and I should be able to head back to school then. I’ve just been catching up on the work at home at the moment. But once I’m back at school I should be able to get back to the station, and, yeah. I don’t know. It should be alright. I’ve been missing you guys and this place too.”

Joe blinked. “Mark hasn’t told you, has he?”

“Told me what?”

Andy shoved a hand over Joe’s mouth. “The station had a big sponsorship deal come through and they had to finalise contracts and stuff to secure the funding so, there’s like a bunch of contract stuff they’ll have to sift through with you. But you can talk to Mark about that when you’re ready to come back.”

“Quit the bullshit.” Patrick spat quickly. “What’s going on?”

“Gabe, Andy and I got secured for 2 years. And, uh, they canned your contract. You’re not a part of the Afternooner’s anymore.” Joe blurted out.

Patrick had lost a lot these past few months. His friendships. His ability to walk, and do pretty much anything for himself. His independence. And now, it seemed, his passion as well.

“They’re going to find you another slot, don’t worry!” Andy assured him, putting a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. “It’s all going to work out. The funding has all been sorted out now, so I’m sure they’ll figure it all out. Don’t stress.”

Patrick glared at him. Of course he was fucking _stressed_. The only thing that had kept him alive in this stupid recovery was the fact that he was going to get back to his stupid job at the radio station. 

He needed to talk to Mark, obviously. But Joe and Andy were standing on either side of him, and he knew his chair wouldn’t fit between them. The obvious thing to do here was to ask them to move, but that was a thought he pushed deep down. _Sorry, guys. My giant ass fucking wheelchair isn’t going to fit in that person-sized gap, can you move for me?_

“Gabe!” Joe smiled, and Patrick’s stomach sank.

“Hey guys.” Gabe grinned, sinking his hands into his pockets. “We gotta go get ready, we’re on in 20. Hey, Patrick.”

Patrick swallowed his urge to snap, and gulped. “H-Hey, Gabe. How’s it going?”

“Not too bad.” He shrugged casually, and it felt like daggers into Patrick’s chest. This guy had taken his job, the only thing he had to live for. And really just didn’t give a shit.

If Patrick had the wheelchair skills to ‘accidently’ run over his foot, he probably would have.

“Hey, are you okay?” A tattooed hand was on his shoulder, and he glanced up to see Andy looking _really_ quite concerned. “We’re gonna sort it out, don’t stress.”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m, f-fine.” Patrick wiped his misty eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. “I, I gotta go, I’m gonna be late to physio and they, yeah, I gotta, I gotta go…”

“Patrick…” 

He fumbled to find the rims of his wheels, and thankfully, Joe stepped out the way and with a firm push, he was out. Straight back around the corner, and stabbing his finger on the down arrow. Why did elevators have to take so long?

“Joe, that _hurt_ him, you know how much this meant.”

“We don’t have time to go after him. We’re on in 20. We can deal with Patrick some other time.” Patrick hated the sound of Gabe’s voice right now, and he furiously wiped his face to assure himself that he wasn’t crying.

He’d never been so happy to see an elevator when the doors opened.

 

\------------

 

Patrick didn’t actually mind going to physio. His care team was a great group who actually seemed to want to help him learn things, and he did owe a lot to them. Hell, his physician was the one who signed off his request to go home from rehab 5 weeks early. 

His physical therapist was a nice guy, too. He had good taste in music, and had actually been a pretty regular listener of Patrick’s radio show before the accident. So it never felt like punishment, or terror when he was pushed into the office. It felt more like punishment when he had to leave and he was still confined to his fucking chair.

They always had to start with the passive range of motion exercises, which was essentially Patrick lying on the bench while Travie painstakingly flexed all his joints. It was just mindless chatter, and Patrick trying not to focus on the fact that he couldn’t feel anything from the armpits down while Travie bent Patrick’s knees back and forth 10 times each before moving on to the ankles. 

It always felt stupid to Patrick. Why would they be working on the joints that were pretty much just dead weight at this point? Every time he mentioned this, Travie would list off a mile-long list of benefits, and Patrick had learned that it was just one of many new things that he was going to have to deal with.

_Ugh._

“Your Mom’s been keeping up the hand exercises?” Travie asked, slowly spinning Patrick’s hand in circles to exercise the wrist joint.

“Yeah.” Patrick sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “My little siblings are being brats about it though.”

“How old?”

“Seven. Twins.”

“Oh. They’re just-“

“ _Young_. I get that. They’re just getting on my nerves.” Patrick muttered. “They climb all over me like I’m some sort of climbing structure now, and then because I can’t like, physically push them off, I have to get Mom to kick them off me. And then they took my chair this morning, too, which was awful considering that I was stuck and then Mom was out shopping and my stepdad is being such as _ass_ about it. He was the one who told them they could go play with it.”

“Okay, that’s not alright. Has that been sorted out?”

“Mom said she’d talk to him, but I just,” Patrick sighed again. “I can’t believe his attitude. He had to help me get out of bed this morning and then he fucking _dropped_ me, and then had the nerve to say he’d never drop me, and that I was freaking out for no reason. I just don’t know what he wants from me. I can’t just snap my fingers and fix myself, you know?”

“Do you think the team needs to have a chat with him?”

“No, no, it should be alright. If Mom can’t wack some sense into him, then maybe. But it’s only been a week and one thing, so, we’ll just wait.”

Travie nodded understandingly. “Well, how about we work on bed transfers then? Seems like that’s a pressing issue.”

“Yeah, okay, that sounds good.”

The thing he liked about physio was that it was pretty effective in teaching him all sorts of strategies for doing things. The thing he didn’t like about physio was that Travie pretty much just sat back and coached him by words, only jumping in when it was absolutely necessary to prevent injury. It was an incredibly effective method, but it was also incredibly terrifying, and Patrick had a bit of a love-hate relationship with it.

He fell over 100 times before he managed to actually push himself up onto his elbows, but that was how most things went these days. Then it was time to roll over, but his arms gave up on him and he face-planted back into his pillow before he got a chance to try that. Then it was back to square one, and Patrick huffed in annoyance.

“You’re not going to build those muscles unless you use them.” Travie told him matter-of-factly. “Now, up on your elbows.”

“There’s no way to practice this that doesn’t involve faceplanting?”

“Nope.” He responded. “Remember when you asked me that in regards to your hands? What did I tell you then?”

Patrick sighed. “Okay, I get the point.”

“Good. Now up on your elbows.”

 

\--------

 

“P-Patrick…”

There was only one person who woke Patrick up by poking him in the face. He groaned at first and swatted her away, before sighing and glancing at his little sister. “What’s up Ella? It’s like…” He blinked and stared at the clock. “3 in the morning. What the hell?”

“I, I had a b-bad dream and, and it was bad and Dad’s door is locked a-and, and I’m really s-scared…”

Patrick sighed and rested his head back. “Right. That’s alright. What happened?”

“I-It was you!” She cried. “A-And then, and then the day that you got r-really hurt and M-Mommy was so _scared_ that you were, y-you were g-gonna…”

“Oh.” Patrick gulped. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to cry. I’m here, yeah? Still here. Don’t cry.”

“Will you, will you come and lie with me until I go back to sleep?” She asked tearily.

“Ella, kiddo, I…” He sighed. “I can’t. I can’t use my legs, remember? But, hey, if you wanna sleep here, with me, then that’s okay, yeah? Here, there’s a bit of room.”

She crawled under the blankets, and after a bit of shuffling around, there came the next problem. “You gotta move over so I can fit here.”

“I, uh…”

“Pleaseee?”

“Look, I’m gonna get up onto my elbows, yeah? And then you just gotta _push_ me and I’ll move over. I need your help. Is that okay?”

“ _Push_ you?” She giggled, obviously delighted at the thought.

“Yep.” He mumbled, trying to remember what Travie had him practicing today. “But you’ve gotta be super quick because I don’t have enough energy to do it a lot of times.”

“Okay!”

“Are you ready?”

“Uh huh.”

Patrick tried not to focus on the pain searing through his muscles as he pushed himself up a full two-inches off his bed, but Ella kept her side of the deal and with a firm shove, there was more room on the left half of the mattress.

“Is that better?” He asked, trying not to show the struggle on his face.

The little girl nodded and snuggled right up to her big brother. “Thank you.”

“That’s okay. Let’s get some sleep, hey?”

“G’night. I love you Patrick.”

“Love you too, brat.”


	4. Nothing is More Powerful than the Power of Mom

The new house was going to have a perfect bathroom, like the one in the rehab centre. Big enough so Patrick could get around in it, and built specifically so he could take care of himself without anyone’s help.

But the new house wasn’t ready yet, and wouldn’t be ready for a few more weeks. But he still needed to be clean, so he was lying in the bathtub while his Mom washed his hair. She’d been thoughtful about the process, buying a few pieces of waterproof foam to prop him up and make sure he didn’t float away, but Patrick had never felt more awkward in his 16 years on this planet.

“I-I’m sorry.” He mumbled, feeling the water wash over his forehead as his Mom teased the shampoo out.

“No, no, you don’t have to apologise for anything, sweetheart.” She assured. “We’ve got this all figured out now. No slips today, _and_ you smell like strawberries and cream.”

Last time they’d attempted this, it was his first day home from rehab. It was a terrifying prospect, considering he couldn’t even fit through the bathroom door in his chair, but his Mom quickly assured him that this was going to be fine and he needed to have a bath. Then she got up and left him in the water while she went to grab the soap, and Patrick’s head had slipped under the water and he nearly had his second brush with death.

Needless to say, the foam was a very important addition to this process.

“I think this works better.” Patrick mumbled in agreement.

“I do too” She nodded, running a hand over Patrick’s chin. “You need a shave, sweetheart. Let’s have a talk to Paul and we’ll see if he can clean you up this afternoon. How’s that sound?”

“You do it!” He rushed quickly, trying to get the images of Paul being in charge of razor blades near his face out of his mind. “I, I’d prefer it if you did it…”

“Sweetheart, I don’t have any experience.” She answered unsurely. “I, I don’t want to hurt you…”

“I don’t mind! It’s okay, I stuffed up a bunch of times when I first leant!”

“Patrick, honey…” Patricia sighed and rubbed her face with her hands. “I understand that you and Paul aren’t, uh, best friends, but you’re going to have to get used to the fact that people other than me are going to have to help you from time to time. I can’t be here 24/7.”

“I know, I know, but it’s _Paul_ , Mom!” Patrick pushed. “You left to do the groceries and in the hour you were gone, he let the kids take my chair, _dropped me_ , had the nerve to say that he _wouldn’t_ drop me, _and_ told me that I needed to stop being so stuck-up with letting the kids sit on my lap!”

“Sweetheart, we’re learning. All of us. I understand it’s really hard and frustrating for you when we can’t do things as quickly or as well as you would like us to be able to, but we’re learning how to live with this as well. You knew this was a risk you were going to have to take when you came home early. In the same way you have to learn how to do your transfers, we have to learn how to help you, and practice. You just have to be a little more patient with him, that’s all.”

“I _am_ patient with him.” Patrick scowled, ignoring the bath water starting to grow cold. “It’s the _ignorance_. It doesn’t take a lot of common sense to understand that maybe I _don’t_ want the kids playing with my 10 thousand dollar chair, does it? Especially once I told him _several_ times that it wasn’t for the kids.”

“Maybe he was just trying to let the kids experience it so they wouldn’t be so eager to touch it. It’s new, Patrick. They’re curious. That’s all.”

“Don’t defend him!” Patrick was growing more sick of this conversation by the second. “He gets so annoyed when I have to ask him for help with anything! I don’t want him touching my face and I just, I don’t trust him, okay?”

“He’s not going to hurt you, Patrick. You’re like a son to him.”

“No, I’m not. I’m _your_ son. _He_ makes us take two family photos so that he can keep the one of just you guys and the twins in his wallet instead of the photo of all of us.”

Patricia sighed. “Honey, you’re overreacting. We’re all learning, here, and you’re going to have to learn to trust him really quickly because I’m not going to be here 24/7, as much as I wish I could be. There’s going to be things, like the shaving, that I’m not going to know how to do. _I’m_ more likely to hurt you than he is.”

“You’re, y-you’re _gentle_.” He whispered, feeling his lungs starting to ache from the loud conversation. “ _Please_.”

She sighed, pulling him into a sitting position and gently rubbed his back. “I’ll see if I can find some youtube tutorials or something. But just this time, okay? Now deep breaths for me, pumpkin. We don’t want another trip to the emergency room.”

Patrick tried not to cry. Crying meant more strain on his lungs, more difficulty breathing. And he did _not_ want to pass out in the bathtub. But it was so hard not to cry when his body was giving up on him. Even his own lungs didn’t want him to defend himself.

“I-I _hate_ t-this Mom.” He rasped, grasping the sides of the tub as well as he could manage. “I-I-“

“Shhh. Deep breaths. I know, baby. It’s a lot.”

He hated that people pretended to understand what he was going through. His Mom did it a lot. He knew it was meant to be a source of comfort, but _she_ wasn’t the one wheezing in the bathtub after speaking slightly above his normal tone for a few minutes. How was he meant to go back to radio when he couldn’t even manage _this_?

“Shhhh. Try not to cry, angel. You’re going to be fine, just fine. Mom’s here. I can’t get you out of the tub until you breathe for me, okay? Breathe in for 3, out for 3. You can do it.”

It was almost a miracle that Patrick didn’t pass out in the bathtub. Pretty much every other time he let his emotions surface he’d ended up back in ICU on a ventilator. But he had to remember that he wasn’t in the hospital anymore, he was at home, and if he couldn’t keep himself together, then he was going to end up unconscious. 

 

\-----------

 

Patrick got to lie on the couch with his Mom that night.

Normally the couch was used by his Mom and Paul, but after the bath incident, Mom decided he just needed a little bit of TLC and some cuddles while they watched TV. Not that he was complaining, of course. It was nice to just be out of his chair, his head on his Mom’s lap and his body all snuggled up in his softest pyjamas while they watched stupid kids movies with the twins. He had various pillows to keep him in place and stop him from rolling over, and his Mom just played with his hair and made sure he was comfortable.

It was peaceful.

Sure, he could tell that Paul was pretty miffed that Patrick had taken his spot on the couch, but Patrick wasn’t his friend right now and was more than happy to just lie here and enjoy his Mom’s embrace. Paul could enjoy the loneliness of the single chair instead.

They watched the latest animated feature on Netflix, and then once the kids went to bed, the latest superhero thriller. Patrick just let himself get lost in the stories and away from his own for a few hours. He probably would have fallen asleep if his Mom didn’t start talking when the movies finished.

“Feeling better, sweetheart?”

Did Patrick feel better? Sure, he wasn’t having a panic attack in the bathtub anymore, far from it, but he wasn’t feeling _better_. Ignoring your problems for a few hours doesn’t make them go away, even if you’re wearing pink pyjama pants.

“I….” He sighed to himself. “I, I just feel _trapped_ , you know? I’m stuck here and I can’t do _anything_ anymore and, and it’s just hard. I know that I’m gonna get better at some things, but they’re not the things I want to do. I’m never gonna sing again, and they’re never going to want me back on the radio if I can’t fucking _breathe_.”

She nodded silently, her hand returning to his hair to stroke it reassuringly. “Sweetheart, you just need a bit more practice. This is all new and scary, and we’re not expecting you to get it all right straight away. We’re just in the adjustment period, that’s all. Once you get a handle on things, you’re going to be _great_. You’ll be back at the station before you know it.”

Patrick sighed.

“Are you going to tell me what happened at the station yet?” Patricia switched from _soothing-Mom-voice_ to _concerned-Mom-voice_ in an instant. 

“They’ve, they’ve done all the contracts up for 2 whole years.” Patrick mumbled. “And I don’t have a spot on my own show anymore.”

“What?”

“They’ve kicked me off my own fucking show.” Patrick tried to clench a fist, and tried to ignore the fact his fingers weren’t paying too much attention to what he was telling them to do. “And, and they’ve signed _Gabe_ on in my place. And it’s a big sponsorship thing so they’re not going to swap it around. I don’t think they’re gonna let me be on the station anymore Mom…”

“Sweetheart…” She sighed. “You knew you weren’t going back to the Afternooner’s anyway. Physio is booked for 3 for the next few months. You can’t get around that, and they can’t fit you in in the morning. We were talking about maybe picking up the dinner shift, remember? That might be good.”

“No, Mom, they sorted out _everyone’s_ contracts. So Brendon and Ryan have that shift. They’re not going to be able to slip me into that, because those two are so close. So I’m just, I’m not going to be back at the station. They’ve, they’ve chucked my contract and it’s gone. It’s just _gone_.”

“No.” Patricia Stump frowned. “It’s not gone. They’re gonna change it for you Ricky, you know how good you are. They’d be stupid not to give you your spot back. Or any spot. I’m pretty sure whoever the sponsorship was through understands as well. We’ll all get sorted out.”

Patrick gave up, and let out a long sigh. “Okay, okay. Thanks Mom. I’ve just gotta, fix my lungs, and I’ll be good then.”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, pecking a kiss to his forehead. “Do you want me to stay down here with you tonight?”

“Do you m-mind?”

“No, not at all. It’s all good. I think it’s long overdue, isn’t it?”

“Thanks, Mom…”

 

\---------

 

The first time Patrick realised that his Mom was serious when she said “We’ll get it all sorted out” was when she pulled up the radio station the next day.

“W-What are we doing?”

“We’re going to sort out your contract.” She smiled, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“We don’t need to do that, _today…_ ” Patrick responded uncertainly. “I’m not ready yet, Mom…”

“Well, let’s go get ready.” She opened the car door and parked his chair next to him. “C’mon.”

The second moment of panic was when his Mom started charging up into the building. Patrick struggled to keep up, but went after her. “Mom! Mom it’s okay! We don’t need to fix this right now! It’s, it’s going to be fine!”

“No, it’s not.” She responded, stabbing her finger on the elevator button before smiling back at her son. “But it will be once I’m done with them!”

_Oh, god._

Patrick chased her up the elevator, down the corridors, waved awkwardly at Meagan, and then had to stop out the front of Mark’s office because he had one of those hinge-doors that swung around, and he hadn’t quite figured out how to manage those yet. But he wasn’t stuck for very long, considering that his Mom came back and held it open so he could come inside.

Mark looked as surprised to see them as Patrick felt when they pulled up at the station. Part of him was very excited that this might actually be a chance to get back on the radio, but mostly he was just hoping the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“What’s this I hear about contracts?” She demanded, sitting down at Mark’s desk and taking an M&M from the bowl he had there.

“What?”

“You’re not kicking my son off this station after all he’s done for you.” She told him, quite plainly. “So let’s negotiate here because my husband is a lawyer and we’ve got a hell of a discrimination case brewing.”

“Mom, mom, I didn’t talk to Mark!” Patrick rushed. “Please, please. We’re not suing anyone. Sorry, Mark. We’ll, I’ll come back. Mom can we _please_ go?”

“You could have told me that last night!” Her face flushed red. “Before I rushed into your station manager’s office!”

Okay, now 100% of Patrick was hoping that the floor was going to swallow him up.

“This isn’t exactly how I imagined this conversation to begin, but, uh, I guess this is a good start.” Mark scratched the back of his neck. “Patrick, we weren’t sure about the state of your, uh, _condition_ , and when the sponsorship came forward, we needed things to be locked in. But you know that you’re always going to have a spot here. We’re not kicking you out.”

_Thank god._ Patrick breathed a sigh of relief.

“We were thinking maybe you might want to have a go at playlist management, you know? Coach a couple of the younger kids, manage the music library.”

His heart dropped again. No, he didn’t want to do _playlist management_. What, sit at a desk and decide what songs were going to come on next? There was _software_ for that now.

“That’s not giving him a spot on the station.” His Mom added disapprovingly. “That’s creating a position for him that doesn’t need to be done. That’s tucking him away in the corner. He can’t be back on his usual show, but we want him back on the air, Mark.”

“Mom…” Patrick sighed. “Sorry, Mark.”

“No, no, it’s alright.” He assured. “We were thinking that it might not be your thing. We have a show for you.”

“Wait, really?” It was going to be a weekend show, for sure. But hey, Patrick was taking anything at this point.

Mark smiled and nodded. “We’ve got a new kid, and he’s been looking for a partner for the 11pm-3am slot.”

“That’s... the graveyard shift…” Patrick stated.

“I know, Patrick. I know it’s not the best, but we’ve got negotiations with our sponsor in two months’ time. If we get you signed on now, and if you and Pete develop some good programming, we can get you into the dinner time sweet spot. Listening has been dropping around then since Brendon and Ryan took over, so I’m thinking it might be a good chance just to get back into the swing of things. And uh, considering your condition, it might be a good starting point if you don’t know if you can commit to a daily show.”

Patrick looked down at his hands in silence. Sure, it was back on the station. It was presenting again. It was everything he loved. But it was also the graveyard shift, where they were lucky to have any listeners at all. Sure, it was all uploaded online nowadays, but his fans weren’t that committed to his show. And he didn’t even know this _Pete_. Hopefully this kid had some experience with being on the air, because Patrick wasn’t an expert on the control panels. All he knew was his personality, and that people liked it. 

He glanced at his Mom for her opinion, but she just shrugged. “This is your choice, honey. I’m open to whatever you choose.”

“Does, does Pete have experience?”

“Not at this station, but he’s new to town. He’s been working for a small station in Florida for a few years, mostly just volunteer work, but he does have an idea of how this all works.”

“And it’ll all be put online?”

“Youtube and Facebook. And snippets on Instagram.”

Patrick gulped nervously, and squeezed his fingers.

“W-When do I start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes welcome to new fic :,)))))
> 
> Sometimes writing sad things distracts me from my own sadness so I haven't slept in 3 days please please please leave a comment I need validation thank you <3
> 
> ima go sleep now


	5. I Don't Think I'm Ever Going to Get Used to This

Patrick had 2 weeks.

2 weeks to 1, better his lungs. 2, get to know this _Pete_ person. 3, to prepare a rough draft on what his show’s programming was going to look like.

It wasn’t a lot of time, but to be honest, Patrick was grateful for that. Two weeks until he was back on the air, doing what he was meant to be doing. And he was going to get out of Paul’s hair too, and start contributing again. Then Paul could stop complaining about the growing cost of Patrick’s medications and he’d be able to have some sort of financial independence. Even if that was the only independence that he had.

And so it was time to start working on his list. He had three things he needed to accomplish in two weeks. Nothing else was as important as those things. He couldn’t work on the lungs thing until he went to see his doctor on Monday, so it was onto item number 2. Get to know Pete.

The first time they met was at the station. 

Mark had given Patrick a rough ‘work schedule’ for the next two weeks, with a note attached adding “ONLY IF YOU CAN MAKE IT, DON’T FEEL OBLIGATED IF YOU HAVE APPOINTMENTS OR AREN’T FEELING UP TO IT”. The concern was nice, but Patrick wasn’t feeling too great about it. _Pete_ probably wasn’t given a note like that. Sure, he was a little bit different now, but it wasn’t going to affect his work that much.

Well, he wasn’t going to _let_ it affect his work that much. Patrick was showing up to every damn session on that stupid schedule.

His Mom dropped him off in the morning, and offered to stay in the parking lot for when he was done, but he politely declined her offer. This was meant to be a several hour workday, and even though she wasn’t working at the moment, it was probably better if he went in on his own.

And it helped him feel a little bit more independent, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

He’d worked out the elevator by now, and the studio was fairly busy for a Thursday morning. He waved an awkward hello to an assortment of colleagues that he hadn’t seen since before the accident, and politely declined a peanut butter cookie from Meagan before finding his way to the studio that he and Pete had been allocated.

Patrick had shown up early, he wasn’t sure if Mark wanted to speak to him or not, and even if, he wanted time to get himself set up before this Pete person arrived.

It was a brainstorming and getting-to-know-each-other thing today. They were going to compare content, look at ideas, and figure out what sort of show they were going to make. Obviously it was a late-night show, so it was going to be pretty music-centric, but it was important to set themselves up well so that they might have a shot at moving to prime-time later on.

Patrick hadn’t managed handwriting again yet, and although his physio said it was possible, it was going to take many months work to get Patrick’s handwriting anywhere near what it was before. So instead, he had a laptop. Well, that wasn’t really the _best_ word for it. It was a giant thing, larger than what he could balance on his lap, and had giant keys that he could stab his non-co-operative fingers into when he needed to write something down. But it didn’t have a very good battery life, so he needed time to sit down and plug it all in and get set up for a long day of prepping.

But Pete was already here. Patrick had shown up an entire _hour_ earlier than when their session was supposed to start, and Pete was already sitting down and writing in a notebook. Patrick sighed internally, but there wasn’t a lot he could do now. Bastard.

But the first enemy he had to pass today wasn’t Pete and his stupid earliness. It was the stupid swing door to his studio. What was he supposed to do with a swing door? Push it open with his hand? As soon as he let go of it, it was going to swing back and hit him in the face. He hadn’t managed to figure out how to push himself with one hand yet, so he just stopped in front of the door and tried to figure out how to tackle it.

He couldn’t pull it, either, as by the time that he backed up enough to give the door room to swing back, he wasn’t going to be able to reach the handle. He could try and just push himself into it, but considering that it opened at an angle, it only jammed his wheels and wouldn’t let him pass.

Who the fuck designed doors like this?

He didn’t need to think much further beyond that though, because the kid sitting in the office had noticed his struggle and pulled the swing door wide open so Patrick could get through.

“I, uh, thanks…” He mumbled, quickly fitting through the door.

“All good!” Pete chirped, before glancing at the table. “Where do you want to sit? I’ll move a chair for you.”

Of course, every spot at this table had to have a fucking chair in it. 

“Just, uh, opposite you, I guess.” Patrick mumbled awkwardly, running his fingers over the rims of his wheels.

Pete moved the chair, and Patrick moved into its spot. It was a bit of a struggle to unhook his bag from the back of his chair, but he managed, and slapped his giant computer down on the desk.

“So I’m Pete!” Pete smiled, sitting back down in his own chair. “I’ve been listening to a few of your old shows on the station archive and you’re so good, dude!! This is gonna be dope!”

“ _Dope?_ ”

“Yep.” He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “I can’t believe we have a show together. That’s _awesome_. I thought it was gonna be _years_ before I got to work with someone as famous as you!”

Patrick snorted at that, stabbing his password into his computer. “I’m not _famous_.”

“Yes you are!” Pete rushed. “I’m from the other side of Illinois and my friends and I used to listen to your show on the internet. Trust me, dude. You’re pretty amazing.”

“Oh.” Patrick was suddenly starting to feel quite bad that he hadn’t done any research on Pete’s radio history. Maybe he should have looked that up. Pete seemed quite well-versed in the Patrick side of things.

But he also didn’t seem scared off by the chair, which was more than he could say for Andy and Joe. He relaxed a little, and opened a blank word document to take down some ideas. “Well, it’s gonna be good to work with you as well. Even if we have to work the graveyard shift.”

Pete grinned. “Even if? Dude, I’m _pumped_. There’s no rules for the midnight show. We can do whatever we want to and there’s no-one around to hear it.”

_There’s no one around to hear it._

“I, uh, yeah…” Patrick said uneasily. “But you, uh, it’s going to be online, and then there’s always night owls and we probably won’t be _alone_ , you know? This is your first time on a big station, isn’t it?”

Pete nodded. “I took the late-night shift at my old station, but I guess this is different, huh?”

“Much different.” Patrick nodded. “And the station _does_ have some rules that we do have to follow, so we do have to focus on those.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s true I guess.” Pete shrugged, sinking into his chair. “So, do you sort of have an idea of how you want to run this, or what?”

“Uh, I guess that sort of depends on how we flow with each other.” Patrick explained. “And it should come with that. I thought maybe we could bounce some ideas around and go from there? Talk about our favourite types of segments and try and replicate the best of both worlds. That’s how Joe, Andy and I worked.”

“Oh, okay.” Pete nodded, before giving Patrick a weird smile. “You’re being so professional about this, damn. I thought you were 16.”

“I am.”

“Oh.”

“It’s, it’s my job, you know? And yours too. We should… treat it like a job…” _God, he sounded like such a snob._

“Oh, yeah, of course. So I really like the music shows, where we go with particular themes and stuff and then we can talk about the music in between songs. So like we do a show where we pick a theme, like “Greatest guitar riffs” and then we choose the songs and talk about why we like the guitar riffs and why we gave them the rating. Back at my old station we used to let listeners call in and suggest their songs too.”

“That’s… not too bad. We probably won’t get any callers but it might be a good to do a couple of those a week to fill some time and add some variety.” Patrick nodded. “I sort-of tend to follow a more conversational style, you know? Like we bring in some funny stories or things we’ve read and then we explain the story and give our opinion on it, and then we can bring in guests occasionally, or get people to call in.”

“I feel like that’s probably more suited to your afternoon show, though.” Pete shrugged.

“Yeah, but I think we could _make_ it work. It might have to change a little bit, but it should be okay. We’ll just have to rely more on each other rather than the external influences.” Patrick attempted to persuade.

“Yeah, okay. I was also thinking maybe we could have a poetry slam?”

“A _what?_ ”

“A poetry slam!” Pete smiled. “Y’know, it’s like where people read poetry! It’s really underrated and I love the art form. We could get people to send their poems in and we could perform them!”

_What the actual fuck?_

“Uh, we can, uh, add that to the drawing board?” Patrick suggested, pretending to take that down as a note.

“Okay, cool.” Pete grinned, adding it to his own notebook. “I think we’re going to have a lot of fun.”

Patrick wasn’t feeling like that. Patrick knew how he ran his shows. His shows were simple, light-hearted, easy listening. And he knew that they were good, because other people actually listened to them. Who the hell actually listened to a _poetry slam_ on the radio? Nobody. Pete better back off a little, or this was going to end up a disaster.

“Maybe, maybe we need to take a bit of a break from hardcore planning…” Patrick mumbled, slowly closing his computer. “We might need to spend a bit of time together first. There’s no point in trying to plan a show if we haven’t had any good conversations first.”

Pete smiled at that. “Yeah, true! Maybe we could go and get some lunch? We can head to the sushi place down the street, it’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, I’ve been a regular for a while.” Patrick nodded in agreement, before his face fell. That place was in a small shopping centre, and it got relatively busy during the lunch rush. Patrick hadn’t been there for many months now. Actually, he hadn’t been in _public_ in many months now. He went from the hospital, to rehab, then home, then to rehab, then home, and to the station. They were the only places he had been.

Was he _ready_ for that?

But it wasn’t really a question, seeing that Pete was already packing his stuff up and Patrick attempted to do the same. He managed to get his laptop back into his backpack, but the zippers were the next issue.

“Do you want some help?”

“ _No_ , no, I’m fine.”

“Okay, that’s all good.”

It took a hot minute to get his fingers around the keychain, but he managed to zip it up after that. But then came the problem of getting it on the back of his chair. He couldn’t stretch that far, his Mom had put it on for him this morning.

“Hey, Pete, can you just put my backpack on my chair for me?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Pete nodded. 

“Thanks.”

Pete held the door open for him on the way out as well, and even though it didn’t seem to phase Pete at all, Patrick’s heart was pounding in his chest. _I’m going out. I’m going out. I don’t even have Mom with me and I’m going out. Oh god oh god oh god oh god._

Pete went in the elevator with him, and Patrick tried to focus on being _normal_. This wasn’t a big deal. He was literally going a quarter mile down the road to get some sushi. And Pete was here, so that was fine. Actually, it wasn’t. He didn’t know this Pete guy at all, but he was sure it was going to be fine. It was going to be _fine_.

“So…” Pete breathed. “Are you still at school?”

“Oh, uh, I guess so.” Patrick mumbled, his mind elsewhere. “I haven’t been in a long time, but I’m still there. I might need to repeat because I’m not going at the moment, but, yeah.”

“Nice. I’m still there too. When do you think you’ll be heading back?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll see what my doctors say. I’m not really meant to be back at work yet but I mean, I need it, so, yeah.”

Pete laughed. “Workaholic, huh?”

“Well, I mean, it’s radio. It’s not really a _job_ job. It’s fun. I’ve been at the station for years. It’s just like, my fun.”

“ _Workaholic_.” Pete joked. “But that’s cool. It’s nice that you love what you do. Radio is cool like that.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” Patrick shrugged. “I, uh, look, uh, I’m not _great_ at this wheelchair thing yet, so if I’m like, swerving into you, just let me know.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. You’re all good at the moment though. Don’t stress about that.”

He breathed an internal sigh of relief. “Good.”

“Before I cross any borders, what are your borders?” Pete asked awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you, like, okay to talk about that? Or do you just like to not? Are you okay with jokes? I make a lot of jokes. But I don’t want to offend you, so, yeah…”

“Oh, uh… I think it’s okay. I can talk about it. It’s only been 3 months, so I’m still learning, but I probably need to loosen up anyway.”

“Oh, okay, cool. 3 months, that’s…. not a long time…”

“Yeah, I know. I just… I needed to be at work again. I’m not myself without it, you know? It’s been a part of me for a long time and I really need it.”

“That’s cool, man. I’m honoured to be a part of it.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

Well, at least Pete knew how important this was to Patrick now. Hopefully that meant he would back off a little with his show ideas. This was Patrick’s damn show. _He_ was the one with the station experience, and _he_ was the one who knew what worked and what didn’t. 

Okay, he felt bad. He needed to take a step back. Pete was nice enough, he probably didn’t have enough experience to know that his ideas were actual burning trash. He was knew to this. Patrick wasn’t just a presenter in this role, he was a teacher. And Pete needed to learn what made good radio shows. Hopefully he was a fast learner. Then they might actually have a chance of making something listenable.

_Clunk._

Pete turned around from inside the small sushi restaurant. “You good?”

Patrick blinked, and glanced down. His footplates were inside the door, but his wheels weren’t. Actually, they were what had clunked against the glass. _Oh, god._

“I’m, uh, I don’t think I’m gonna fit.” He stammered.

Pete exited the shop, and Patrick tried to stay calm. He didn’t even fit through the _door_ to his favourite sushi shop anymore. Oh god.

“You alright? We can go somewhere else if you want to.” Pete offered. “Or I can grab your food for you and we can go and sit in the regular food court if that works?”

“I, uh, I…” Patrick took a deep breath, and dug his wallet out from under his leg. “Just, uh, some teriyaki salmon rolls, and uh, yeah. That’s all.”

“Okay, cool. You just gonna wait here?”

“Well, I, I don’t have a choice, do I?” He tried to laugh, but it came out dry and dripping with misery.

“Hey, it’s all good. Give me a sec and we’ll go find a place to sit.”

Pete wouldn’t take his money, either, and Patrick just sat and tried to pretend that he was okay. The world wasn’t _built_ for people like him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he just really wasn’t meant to be here at all.

Tomorrow he was going to be home all day, no work schedule. He wouldn’t have to go out again, hopefully for a long, long time.

 

\-------

 

Patrick knew that his mother was going to be away today. He knew that she was going to meet up with some visiting family members who she hadn’t seen in years. And he knew that he was going to be at home for a few hours with Eli (who had caught some sort of cold and was spending his time at home watching movies), and Paul.

Not that it was a bad thing. His Mom had gotten him up, gotten him dressed and now he was just sitting and watching movies with Eli. They weren’t to touch – that was made very clear by his Mom. Patrick couldn’t cough, and so if he caught whatever cold Eli had he was in a bit of trouble. But it was all good, they were having a good time, sitting on opposite sides of the room. Eli eventually fell asleep, and then Patrick was watching superhero movies on his own.

Until his seatbelt came undone.

He didn’t notice it at first, slowly sinking deeper into his chair. At one point he did notice his armrests higher, but shrugged that off to his Mom being in a bit of a rush this morning. It wasn’t until he was already sliding out of his chair that he noticed the seatbelt had come undone.

And with no defence to stop it, Patrick slid out of his chair like a wet piece of spaghetti.

Paul wasn’t watching superhero movies with them, like he’d promised Eli at the beginning of the day. He’d taken his work laptop and was sitting outside on their patio, working on whatever he was doing. And considering Eli had closed the door last time he’d been out there, there wasn’t a very good chance that Paul noticed that Patrick had just face-planted into the carpet.

He’d landed on top of his arms – and didn’t have the strength to move them from under him. He was well and truly stuck, face-down on the carpet. With a flick of his neck, he managed to get his face sort-of on an angle, but there wasn’t a lot else he could do.

“Paul?” He tried to be quiet at first, mindful of his sleeping sibling, but in the end decided that getting off the carpet was the first priority here. “PAUL!”

No response.

“PAUL! HELP!” He tried, before he had to catch his breath. Lying face-down probably wasn’t going to be good for his breathing. Paul would come in to check on Eli eventually. He had to, right?

It was about half an hour before a pair of small feet stood in front of Patrick’s face. 

“Patrick?”

“Yeah Eli?”  
“Why are you on the floor?” He sat down in front of his big brother’s face, and Patrick sighed.

“I… I fell out of my chair and I can’t get up.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“It doesn’t _look_ very fun.”

“I know. It’s not.”

“Then why are you lying like that?”

“Because I can’t move.”

“Oh.”

“Mmm.” Patrick hummed. “Buddy, can you go get your Dad for me? I need him to get off the floor.”

“Daddy’s on the _phone_. Doing work. We’re not allowed to talk to him when he’s on the phone.” Eli told him.

“Well, I mean, I think this is more important. Can you go and tell him that Patrick’s fallen out of his wheelchair and needs some help?”

“Am I gonna get in trouble?”

“I don’t think so. Just ask if he can come and help me.”

The little feet wandered off, and Patrick sighed and waited for him to return. It was quite a bit longer than he was expecting, and he certainly wasn’t expecting Eli to come back empty handed.

He sat down in front of Patrick with a little baggie of cookies. “He’s on the phone. He didn’t wanna listen to me. Do you wanna cookie, Patrick?”

“He just sent you away?”

“Uh huh.”

Patrick groaned and rubbed his face into the carpet in frustration. “That’s okay, you eat them.”

Eli wasn’t taking no for an answer. The cookie was soon shoved between his teeth, and Patrick sighed. “Thanks.”

“S’okay!” Eli smiled. “They’re yummy. Mommy got them from the special shop. But I get to eat them because I got sick and you can have some because you’re broken too. So we can both have them!”

“Thanks, buddy.” Patrick sighed. “But I don’t want any more. You can-“

He was interrupted by another cookie being shoved into his mouth. Little kids just never seemed to fucking listen.

“Do you wanna watch Pokemon or Yu-Gi-Oh?” Eli asked, grabbing the television remote.

“I don’t mind, buddy. I can’t see the TV. You watch what you wanna watch.”

“Oh. Okay! We’re gonna watch Pokemon!”

“Good choice.” Patrick mumbled into the carpet.

They were on the 2nd episode into the adventures of Ash Ketchum, when Paul _finally_ walked in. Patrick had never been so glad to see those feet in his life. “Paul!”

“I, uh, what happened here?”

Patrick tried to shrug, and then gave up on that. “I think my seatbelt came undone. I don’t know. Can you help?”

“Yeah, sure. You just want back in your chair?”

“Yeah.” Patrick sighed. “That’s perfect.”

Paul scooped him up, and Patrick was so pleased to have his face off the carpet after a few hours face-planted into it. But he hadn’t anticipated the effect that lying upside down for so long was going to have on him. The disorientation, added to the absurd amount of cookies that Eli had shoved in his mouth, meant that he was starting to feel a bit queasy.

“Oh, for FUCK’S SAKE!”

Even Eli looked pretty disgusted at Patrick’s vomit, and that kid had eaten handfuls of dirt. It was all over his shirt, his pants, his chair. And, Paul. And Paul wasn’t looking very pleased.

“I-I’m sorry, I-“

“Shut it.” He snapped, looking over his shirt and scowling. “I’m going to change.”

He turned and left the room. And then Patrick started sliding.

“PAUL! PAUL YOU DIDN’T DO THE SEATBELT! PAUL I’M GOING TO FALL AGAIN! _PAUL!_ ”

There was no response. Just the sound of his footsteps going up the staircase, as Patrick slid out of his chair, once again. And this time, into a pile of his own puke.

“Ewww.” Eli mumbled.

Patrick tried to blink away the tears forming at the corner of his eyes. “I, I know buddy. Too many cookies.”

“But _I_ didn’t vomit them everywhere, and we shared!”

“You didn’t eat them upside down.”

“Oh.”

“I-It’s okay, your Daddy’s gonna come back down and he’s gonna clean me up. I’ll be okay.” Patrick was reassuring himself this more than Eli. Paul looked pretty angry. Patrick hadn’t been able to control it. Why was he so mad?

Sure, having someone throw up on you wasn’t a good time, but every time Patrick had been in that situation it had been “It’s okay, I’ll go clean myself up, and we’re all good. Don’t worry about it”. It had never been _abandoning your stepson as he called out to you because he was falling out of his chair again._

“Yeah! Daddy’s gonna help. He’s very strong.” Eli smiled. “But you smell bad now.”

“I know.” Patrick mumbled. 

Paul came back downstairs in a clean set of clothes, and went and grabbed some cleaning supplies before returning to the living room. “You just had to get it all over the fucking carpet too, didn’t you?”

“The s-seatbelt, and I c-called you when I was slipping a-and-“

“Shut up, kid. _I’m_ the one cleaning your vomit. I’m in my right mind to leave you here while I wipe everything down but be glad I’m _nice_.”

Paul just sighed loudly and grabbed Patrick by the arms to pull him off the floor. He placed him down on his bed, his back resting against the wall there. He knew it wasn’t stable the moment he sat down.

“I-I’m gonna f-fall…”

“Shut it!”

At least he was on his bed this time, when he slumped over to the left. It was better than the floor, at least. He just sniffled and tried to focus on keeping his lungs working. _In for 3, out for 3._ He couldn’t have a breathing problem right now. Paul didn’t seem happy with him, and probably wasn’t going to call 911 if he passed out.

Paul got a few phone calls while he scrubbed at the carpet. Every one he answered the same one. _“Sorry, can’t talk now, my stepson threw up and I’ve got to clean it. Yeah, the disabled one. I’ll call you back soon.”_

Patrick had never been so humiliated.

“Alright.” He sighed, standing up from his spot on the floor. “Carpet’s done. I’m assuming I have to change your clothes too?”

Well, obviously. Paul’s shirt had a few flying drops of vomit on it. Patrick’s shirt had soaked up most of the damage, and his pants were soaked as well. He hesitantly nodded, and regretted it as soon as he did.

Paul pulled his shirt off over his head, and then there was vomit on his face and in his hair and Patrick almost felt like he wanted to throw up a second time. Then Paul wrestled his pants off him, and then stopped. “Is that full of piss?”

Patrick put a hand to his catheter. Well, the answer was _yes_. How the hell did Paul not know he had a catheter? He’d been there the whole time he’d been in the hospital. He’d been told as much about Patrick’s injury as his Mom had.  
Clearly he wasn’t listening to _any_ , and Patrick’s face grew red with shame. “I, uh-“

“I’m _not_ fucking touching that.” He added quickly. “I’ve had enough of your bodily fluids.”

“T-That’s okay, you don’t have to touch that. I just need some new pants and a new shirt.” Patrick whispered, trying not to poke the beast that was in full command of dressing him at this moment.

_Where was Mom when you needed her?_

Thankfully, Paul did dress him. And in clean clothes, too. He wasn’t happy about it, and Patrick just focused on not crying, but he was relatively clean now. Besides his face and his hair and the burning sensation of which he presumed to be carpet burn.

It only grew a problem when Paul picked him back up and Patrick quickly tried to protect his cleanliness. “No, no, not the chair! It’s still dirty! Thank you… Wait, no! Not the bed either! That’s still covered too!”

“You’re just _impossible_ , aren’t you?” Paul spat, dropping him on the lounge chair. Sure, he tipped over straight away, but the couch was soft, and he was safe here. Well, that’s what he told himself while Paul wiped his chair clean and he tried to focus on breathing.

“Alright, here.”

“No, n-no it’s okay, I-I’ll wait for Mom, d-don’t touch me, it’s okay-“

“Don’t be stupid.” He muttered, putting Patrick back down in his chair. “There. Happy?”

“T-Thank you…” He mumbled, mostly out of fear rather than gratitude.

Paul just grumbled and walked off. And then Patrick noticed he hadn’t done up the fucking seatbelt.

“Eli, buddy, can you come here?” He asked nervously. “I know I normally say don’t climb on me, but can you come on my lap for a moment?”

That request, Eli was glad to accept.

“Do you see the two sides of the seatbelt? I need you to be super strong and clip them together, okay? Otherwise I’m gonna fall out of my chair again and I really don’t want that. Can you help?”

“It’s _hard_ , Patrick!”

“I know, buddy. Just keep going. You’ve got it.”

The click was the most relieving noise he’d heard in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for your love on the last chapter, I can promise you I did get some sleep and all was well <3
> 
> Love y'all <3


	6. This Hurts Me More Than You Know

Pain was the main factor of Patrick’s new life.

Sure, the chair was a pretty big factor, and it did make things hard, but the pain was much bigger than the chair would ever be. It pain that woke him up in the morning, and kept him from sleeping at night. His medications helped dull it, but it wasn’t ever something that would leave him. He just had to deal with his muscle aches and chronic pain on his own.

Most days, it was manageable. As long as he made sure he stayed on top of his medications, then it was tolerable and he could carry on with what he was doing. But there were times where it made itself more well known. When he was transferring, for example. During physio was also a big one. But sometimes, the pain just became unbearable out of nowhere.

Like tonight.

Patrick, despite all other things, was a teenage boy. And teenage boys aren’t allowed to have emotions. They’re only to have straight faces and smiles. But that had all been thrown out the window, as he sobbed while his Mom tried to gently tease the dried bits of puke from his hair.

“I can’t give you any more, honey, I’m sorry.” She mumbled. “You’ve taken everything you can. Even the emergency meds. Any more and we’ll be back in hospital for an overdose.”

Patrick didn’t really care about that, but his Mom clearly did, so he just sobbed. It was the only way to deal with the blinding pain. He’d complained about lying face-down on the carpet earlier, but he’d take that a million times over if it meant he didn’t have to deal with _this_.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Patricia whispered softly, putting a hand on Patrick’s chest in the hope of steadying his breathing. “We don’t want to go back to the emergency room, do we? Just take some deep breaths for Mom, alright?”

“I-It _H-HURTS!_ ” He tried to not scream at her, but it was so hard when he was in so much pain and she clearly had no idea what it was like.

“I know, baby.” She sighed softly, before cupping his cheek in her hand. “Do you want me to take you to emergency? They’ll have stronger medications for you, much more than we have here.” She paused a second, and thumbed over his cheek. “Is that carpet burn?”

Patrick forced a nod, hoping she’d take it as answer to both. Thankfully, she did, and before he knew it she was strapping him into the car-seat that he hated with a burning passion. If he wasn’t in too much pain to argue, he probably wouldn’t have agreed to go, but anything went at this point.

Every single doctor, nurse or social worker that he talked to told him that he was lucky. The impact of the bus, the speed it was going, and the way he got caught under it – he was lucky to be alive. Lucky that he was still here with everyone. But in moments like this, he didn’t feel lucky. Sure, he was still alive. But what sort of a life was this? He could be mistreated by the people he was supposed to be able to trust, and never be able to stand up to them, or even report them to someone he _did_ trust because of the pain that ruled his life.

Patrick probably would have been luckier if he died.

 

\-----

 

The good thing about an emergency visit to hospital is that your doctor’s visit gets moved up considerably. 

Sure, Patrick was annoyed as all hell that he was missing his second scheduled ‘Brainstorming session’ with Pete, but being in the hospital was a good enough excuse. And it meant that he could probably tick another box off on his list of things to fix before the radio show started, earlier.

You win some, you lose some.

The doctor and Patrick’s Mom were in a deep discussion about his pain killer prescriptions, and Patrick just studied the various posters of spines and spinal things on the walls. He could point at the exact spot where his spine had snapped, if he could reach up that far. It was weird to look at these posters and think about what could have happened. One disk up, and he wouldn’t be able to use his arms at all. One down, and he’d have significantly more strength, and be able to breathe a lot more too. Spinal injuries were weird like that. He’d spent weeks learning the ins and outs of them, and he still had no idea.

“Patrick, honey, what do you think?”

He snapped out of his daze. “Hmm?”

His doctor cleared his throat. “If we want to put you on a stronger prescription, then we’re going to be putting you on oxycodone. Have you heard anything about oxycodone before?”

“No…?”

“It’s an opioid. It can be extremely addictive.” His Mom explained. “That’s why we’ve been hesitant. Because you’re so young, and it’s such a heavy drug.”

“Does it _work_?” Patrick asked.

“Yes.” His doctor nodded. “And that’s why we’re looking at it.”

“Oh, okay. That’s alright. Yep, all good.”

His Mom sighed, and the doctor nodded. “I’ll print you out a new script, and then an information booklet. Your Mom is going to have to keep a close eye on this one, though, okay? And only in emergencies. We don’t want a dependency, especially not at the moment when we know that your pain is going to get significantly less as we proceed through with physio.”

Patrick just nodded, eager to move on from this conversation and onto something that he really cared about. “I need you to fix my lungs.”

“Fix your lungs?”

“Uh huh.” Patrick nodded. “I start back on the radio on two weeks and I need to be able to like, _breathe_.”

“And you’re not breathing at the moment?” The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Even quiet conversations wind him.” His Mom explained, rubbing Patrick’s shoulder comfortingly. “And it’s very hard to listen to at night. He’ll just stop breathing, and I have to shake him awake. It’s… we’ve been keeping an eye on it but it’s not getting better.”

“Right.” He murmured, turning around and typing some notes into his computer. “How are you going with the manual chair, Patrick? Is that working okay for you?”  
“Yep!” He rushed. “It’s good. I’m doing good with the chair. I’m still learning the manoeuvres and stuff, but I’ve got the basics down and I’ve stopped swerving into people and, yeah. I’m getting there.”

“Okay, good. How far do you think you can get before you start to feel tired?”

“Oh, like, forever? That hasn’t happened yet. It’s great. I’m doing good with my chair.”

“He hasn’t gone a far enough distance for that to happen.” Patricia chimed in, and Patrick scowled.

“Pete and I went to the sushi place from the station!”

“That’s 100 yards down the road, sweetheart.”

“Were you tired by the end of that?” The doctor asked.

“Nope.” Patrick lied, dropping his arms down by his side to give the illusion of truth.

The doctor sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “Patrick, something that has come along with your injury is decreased lung capacity. I know that it’s going to take some getting used to, but the fact is that this is something that you’re going to be facing for the rest of your life. There’s methods that we can teach you, but at the moment, there’s nothing that I can do that’s going to magically fix your lungs, especially in the next two weeks. We can implement a long term plan, through.”  
Patrick sighed. “Yeah.”

The doctor spent a while going over things, listing to Patrick’s chest as he took a few deep breaths, and then listened to him while he recovered from the strain that put on his lungs. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Patrick knew that he had no control over these things. His body just did what it wanted to do. But every single time he failed one of these tests the doctor administered, it felt like another fail against his academic record. As a child who’d been called ‘gifted’ all throughout his life, it was especially hard for him now. He wasn’t a winner anymore. He was failing every single one of these tests, and it wasn’t looking good.

“How often does he stop breathing at night?”

“A couple of times an hour. Sometimes he wakes up on his own but other times I have to step in.”

Patrick’s Mom had been sleeping on the couch next to him since that first night when she first noticed the breathing problem. He noticed how tired she looked in the morning, but put that down to his own bizarre sleep schedule, rather than the fact she was staying up all night to make sure he was still breathing.

The doctor thought about it for a minute, before leaning back in his chair, like he always did when he was about to hit Patrick with some information that he didn’t want to hear.

“So, you know how when you go to physio and they flex all your joints, that’s to re-train the muscles and hopefully restore sensation and use?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m thinking that we might need to do a similar thing with your lungs.”

“Oh. What does that mean?”

“How would you feel if we put you on a ventilator at night time?”

Patrick quickly put a hand to his neck, almost in self-defence. “C-7 injuries don’t need ventilators, right?! I, I don’t need, I don’t _want-_ “

“Non-invasive.” The doctor added quickly. “We’re not putting a tube in your throat. I’m talking about a mask that you wear while you’re sleeping. One, this is going to help you sleep, because you’re not going to be waking up. Two, this is going to help your Mom get some more sleep, because she doesn’t have to worry about you not breathing in the middle of the night. Three, this is going to help you expand your lung volume over the long term, so you’ll be able to get back to the radio. Sound alright?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“I’m afraid not.”

 

\----------

 

With the hospital visit and the medical drama that had plagued Patrick and Patricia over the past few days, the incident with Paul pretty much went undiscussed until Patrick returned back to the house that he despised.

It was a mess, _of course it was_ , because Paul didn’t make the kids pick up their toys from the living room. Patrick hadn’t even made it all the through the front door before he ran over something, and that just meant Patricia was running around the lower floor of her house for a good 10 minutes before he could comfortably get around without destroying anything.

At least dinner smelled good, right? Paul had made dinner. That was a start. They’d been driving around between all sorts of appointments all day, and hadn’t had a moment to even think about eating. Patrick’s mouth was salivating at the very _thought_ of dinner, and the smell was so good as it wafted through the house. 

That was until Patrick found out that Paul had made spaghetti, _again_ , and dinner wasn’t going to be a good time.

What annoyed Patrick about this sort of stuff, was that it wasn’t _deliberate_. It wasn’t like Paul had decided that Patrick needed to be humiliated by making him eat food that he was bound to have difficulty with due to his hands. It was just the lack of caring, and the complete ignorance that made Patrick’s blood boil. It wasn’t very hard to think about these sorts of things, and it wasn’t very hard to just be a little bit thoughtful and make life just a little bit less difficult for Patrick. But these sorts of things never seemed to cross Paul’s mind, and Patrick was always going to be an afterthought for him.

Mealtimes were humiliating enough these days. Sure, he was past the days where he needed his Mom to spoon-feed him because he hadn’t gotten control of his arms back yet, but he sure as hell wasn’t as good as he used to be. His seven-year-old siblings had the normal, adult cutlery, and the normal, adult plates to eat off. Patrick had a plastic bowl that suction-cupped to the table, in case he knocked it over accidently, and special plastic cutlery that was designed for him to be easier to hold. Sure, he knew that it was meant for adults, and his Mom had bought it from a medical store, but it made him feel like a small child who couldn’t be trusted with the grown-up stuff yet.

And the spaghetti just made it worse. Everyone else at the table had mastered the art of twisting the fork around to twirl the pasta, but it was something Patrick’s useless hands were just refusing to do. And when he did manage to twirl the pasta half-decently, he almost got it to his mouth before his fingers twitched and dropped the fork right back down into the bowl.

The twin’s snickers and Paul’s raised eyebrow were the last straw, and Patrick snapped. “Stop it!”

“Guys, don’t be rude.” Patricia told the twins sternly, before putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Don’t get so upset, sweetheart. We’re just eating dinner. Stop stressing.”

“No, I’m sick of it!” Patrick huffed. “Is having the _slightest_ bit of empathy so hard for everyone here?! I don’t understand why you all want to treat me so badly! It’s one thing to not think about what I can’t eat when making dinner, but you fucking left me in a pile of my own vomit because you thought that changing your shirt was more important! And then you got mad at me because of it! Do you think it was intentional, Paul?! I’m just so fucking sick of this!”

Storming away angrily used to be a lot easier, because Patrick had somewhere to go and hide. The furthest Patrick could get this time was out onto the outside patio, and even that was short-lived. He’d only just made it out the door when he seriously miscalculated the height of the patio onto the grass, and he was thrown into the dirt, chair and all.

This was one of those moments where Patrick really, _really_ wished he was dead.

Thankfully, he wasn’t left in the dirt for very long, as Patricia came running after him and picked him up. The concern and worry on his mother’s face wasn’t something he could ignore.

So he broke down and told her everything. About everything Paul had said to him, the whole incident with Eli when she wasn’t home, the carelessness and the rudeness.

“Once we move into the new house, everything-“

“The new house isn’t going to fix him! If he wants to be an asshole to me, then he’s going to do it, no matter where we are!” Patrick cried. 

Patricia sighed. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, and then we’ll go have a mediation session.”

Mediation was about as fun as it sounded. Patrick and Paul sat on opposite ends of the table, and Patricia sat between them to moderate. Patrick kept his arms folded and a scowl on his face, and Paul was subtly doing the same. 

“Alright. We’re going to sort this out. I’m not having my two boys fighting anymore. You both need each other and I’m sick of all this hostility, okay!?”

“I don’t need him.” Paul was the first to chime in. “He needs me.”

“I raised your children!” Patrick spat back.

“Hey! Stop! We’re staying calm here!”

Patrick scowled.

“Let’s start with the day I wasn’t here. It seems to be a big issue. I’ve heard bad things from both sides.”

“Bad things from _his_ side?!” Patrick accused. “What did I do to you?!”

“Paul says that you refused his treatment and were continually demanding and being rude while he was trying to help you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know that asking to be put in a position where I wasn’t going to fall over was _demanding!_ ” He spat sarcastically

“It wasn’t what you wanted, it was how you spoke to me!”

“ _You’re_ the one that threatened to leave me in a pool of my own vomit because I tried to explain why I fell!”

“What did I just tell you both!?” Patricia threatened.

Paul sighed. “Look, I admit that I probably could have been significantly better that day. I was quite stressed, my client just got refused bail and I was trying to mitigate the options with the family and it was so hard for them, and my phone just wouldn’t stop ringing so I was really stressed. I’m sorry I took it out on you, I really am.”

Patricia smiled at that response, and turned to Patrick. “See, there we go.”

“You think that’s a valid excuse?!” He clenched his fingers into a fist. “I’m, your job shouldn’t have an impact on that at all! You fucking left me and didn’t give a shit when I called out to you because I was slipping again!”

“Sweetheart, mistakes have been made.” Patricia sighed. “We need to forgive and forget. None of us are going to have a good time if you two just can’t get along. We need to move on.”

Patrick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “So you’re going to choose your husband over me.”

“No, I’m saying that you two need to forgive each other and be friends again. You used to be best friends. What happened?”

What happened was that Patrick grew up, and Paul had had his own children. Sure, when Patrick was 9, and Paul had only just married his Mom, they got along really well. They went to the arcade together, out on day trips, and all the classic father-son activities considering that Patrick’s real Dad was deployed most months of the year. But then the twins were born and Patrick wasn’t the favourite anymore. He was the older burden now.

Patrick’s Dad had kids before Patrick, his half-brother and half-sister were much older than he was and were in their final year of college now. Patrick’s parents had been together for only 2 years. Long enough to pop out a baby, but not long enough for Patrick to ever have a memory of them being together.

One side of his family was much older than he was, and the other side was much younger. He was the awkward child in the middle, unwanted by both parties because he didn’t belong with either of them.

“What do we say?” Paul asked. “Want to start fresh?”

Patrick wanted to scowl. He wanted to storm out again, and hopefully when he came back, Paul would be gone forever. But those things weren’t ever an option, and once again, Patrick had to swallow his pride.

“Fine.”


	7. I Can't Decide Whether I Love This or Hate This

 

 

Patrick had come to the conclusion that Pete was an all-around nice guy.

And that was pretty much it. He was nice enough, cared enough, always made polite conversation and was eager and enthusiastic to get started on their radio show.

The problem that Patrick had with Pete was that Pete liked to think that he knew what he was doing, when he very clearly did not.

Patrick knew radio. Radio had literally been his entire life. As a kid, he was raised listening to some of the greatest radio DJ’s that Chicago had ever seen. He’d spend his weekends and holidays volunteering at the station, learning the ins and outs of the system and how to make a show that people wanted to listen to.

Pete seemed to only want to make a show that Pete wanted to listen to.

People tune into the radio to hear people discuss bands and artists, to listen to funny stories, to take part in competitions and discussions. Pete seemed to think that the winning formula for a radio show consisted of poetry slams, reading novels and having segments on weird things, like discussing the possibility of unicorns, or whether or not people were actually abducted by aliens.

Things that probably didn’t make a lot of sense, and especially not in the 11pm-3am slot.

And the problem that Patrick had was that they needed to be friends in order for this show to work, so he couldn’t just come out and tell Pete that his ideas were absolutely terrible. He had tried to be nice about it, and encouraging, and tried to steer the conversation back to what it should be, but it just wasn’t working.

“Pete,” Patrick sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “We, we can’t have poetry on our show. It’s fine if you like poetry, it’s fine if you want to do these kinds of things elsewhere, but poetry doesn’t belong on the radio. Maybe you could make a podcast if you’re that passionate about it? But we’re not going to be any listeners from that. In fact, I think it’ll drive people away.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I think you think that because it hasn’t been tried before.” Pete grinned. “And we’ve got a show where we’ve got a little bit of creative room to play with. I think it’ll be amazing. And you can’t say that poetry doesn’t belong on this station when the station is actually built on it.”

“ _What?”_

“Music! Lyrics are poetry!” He grinned at Patrick, like this was some big revelation. “And this is an Alternative station, the people listening at our time slots are probably just like super emo teenagers, and they’ll probably like poetry anyway. It might be a really good way to connect with the listeners! Especially if they send their poetry in and we can perform it!”

“I’m not performing anyone else’s poems, Pete. Do you know what sort of pressure that puts us under? What if we ruin someone’s hard work? What if we perform it wrong? The station is just going to drop us. We can’t be upsetting people. Art is subjective.”

“So is music.”

“That’s why we’re an alternative station. Not a poetry station. We’re not having it on the show, Pete.”

“I think you need to try it. Then you can see how well it’s going to work!”

Patrick groaned in frustration. “You’re not _listening_.”

“I’m listening. I just think you’re wrong.” Pete stated. “You want to talk about experiences and start discussions when you have to face the fact that nobody is going to call into our midnight show. We need to make content between ourselves because we’re not going to get be getting many callers, if any.”

“I’ve worked on this station for years! I know what works!” Patrick felt himself getting agitated, but tried to keep a level head.

“You know what works in the _afternoon_.” Pete corrected. “I know what works at night.”

“Not at this station!”

“Well, you haven’t ever worked this timeframe.”

“Listen to me!” Patrick snapped. “You’re new to the station, and you’re new to the type of programming we run here. If we can make this work, and seem good enough for the evening slot, then in a month’s time we’re going to get moved. We can’t be taking ‘creative liberties’ when our careers are on the line here!”

Pete raised an eyebrow. “Dude, this is, this is a side hobby. We’re 16. It’s not the end of the world. I mean, yeah, sure, we want a good show, but you don’t need to get so worked up.” Pete paused a second. “Hey, are you okay?”

“F-Fine.” Patrick puffed, putting a hand to his chest. Now was _not_ the time for his stupid lungs to act up again.

“Are you sure?” Pete grabbed his water bottle from his bag and twisted the top off, before presenting it.

Patrick didn’t want to take it. He wanted to stop having a meltdown, and continue being the strong person that he was. This was his show, his legacy, and his livelihood. He wanted to do everything he could to protect it, but he couldn’t do that when he got puffed out and couldn’t breathe when he tried to talk.

So he grabbed the water bottle, downed a few slow sips, and tried to focus on the breathing technique that they had taught him in physio.

It was a few minutes of painful silence, filled only by Patrick’s rasping for air and Pete grabbing the water bottle off the floor when he accidently dropped it. By the time Patrick’s face wasn’t purple anymore, the moment was well-passed, and Pete already had his phone out.

“Ambulance?”

“What? No, no, I’m fine.” He paused to take another deep breath. “I’m okay. I just, yeah. It’s all good now.”

“Okay…” Pete nodded, tucking the phone back into his pocket. “Maybe this isn’t an argument we can sort out today. We both haven’t tried each other’s, so I think maybe we’ll need to run two pilot shows. That way we can listen to viewer feedback and shape our show around that. How does that sound?”

“Mark’s going to be okay with that?”

Pete grinned. “It’s the midnight shift. Mark said we can run whatever we want to.”

Patrick sighed again, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Fine.”

 

 

 

  
\----

 

 

 

Everything was happening at once, and at the exact same time, Patrick had never been more bored.

It was a big week. The biggest thing going on this week was that the new house was finally ready – and that meant it was time for the family to move. Patrick’s Mom and Paul had been working around the clock to put everything into boxes, and load the boxes into the downstairs area so that the truck could come and pick them up.

His Mom had tried to involve him at first. He wasn’t able to reach the bottom of the boxes, so he wasn’t able to pack them by himself. Then she tried to get him to help by folding all the clothes and putting them into suitcases, but his hands weren’t agreeing with that and they generally ended up a bigger mess than if he didn’t touch them in the first place.  
So Patrick spent his days watching TV, while his family all puttered around on the upstairs floor. More and more boxes were being brought down, and they took up quite a lot of space, so he didn’t have as much space to move around as he used to. That lead to a lot of getting stuck, and it seemed every 15 minutes or so he was calling up the stairs for help to dislodge himself from between a heavy box and the couch.

It easier for him to stay silent and still. He watched a lot of TV, and then his Mom would take him to physio in the afternoons, and then he had to keep the kids entertained until they went to bed. Then, it was waiting around for a few hours, until it was time for the big day.

The first night of Pete and Patrick’s Midnight Show.

By the time that Patrick got the station, it seemed like it was already closed for the night. Meagan’s desk was empty, and the bright office lights were off, leaving only the dim lighting they used for night-time to illuminate the studios. The break room was empty too, except for Pete making himself a coffee. He offered Patrick one, but Patrick politely declined and asked Pete to fill up his water bottle instead.

They’d reached an agreement over the content disagreement. Patrick had a whole week where he was in charge. All the shows, all the content, all the topics of discussion. After that week, Pete was going to control the show for a week. Then they would get audience feedback on the show, and that would be what they would move forward with. It wasn’t the best solution, but Patrick didn’t have the lungs he needed in order to continue fighting.

They’d been given studio 4 to broadcast from, and it was a bittersweet situation. Studio 4 still worked, but it was the oldest and dingiest studio in the building. The rest of the studios had gone through a big upgrade last year, but that had proved to be the problem, because the managers had decided that standing desks were going to be the best way to broadcast.

Studio 4 still had tables with chairs, which meant it was the only studio accessible to Patrick. Pete didn’t seem to mind, even Studio 4 was a big improvement from his old station. But as they sat down and got set up in the room that smelled of dust and probably hadn’t been cleaned since the 90’s, it was a little bit disheartening.

“We can probably get an air freshener?” Pete suggested, wiping the dust off the table and setting up his papers. “And maybe some decorations. We can make it our own.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Patrick sighed, getting himself set up. “Make sure you set your phone to do not disturb. Then we should be good to go. You understand tonight’s programming right?”

Pete nodded. “Starting off with the top 10 of 2009, then the current alternative top 10, and then we’re having a conversation about food, and then afterwards we’re each playing our 5 picks, and then we get people to call in about the food thing, and then the station playlist for an hour, and then the early morning news headlines, and then we’re finishing up with the picks from the new artist portal. Right?”

Patrick nodded. This kid might not think it was good programming, but at least he seemed committed to trying it. That was something he appreciated. It did mean that he would have to do the same doing Pete’s stupid poetry slam thing, though, but he could do that.

Going first was part of Patrick’s attempts to teach Pete about good radio shows. If he could show that he was good host and people were engaging, and if he could get Pete having a good time, then hopefully Pete would drop his own ideas and settle on the best ones.

“Why do you look so glum?” Pete asked, adjusting the microphone and reading over the control panel. “This is exciting! It’s our first show!”

Patrick sighed softly. “No, no, I’m excited about this. It’s good here. It’s just been a long day, you know?”

“Ah, yeah. Hospital visits or something?”

“My family’s moving house. It’s just a bit of a hassle because I can’t really help that much and I get in the way a lot and yeah. Things are a bit stressful at my place but it’ll all work out.”

“That sucks, dude.” Pete apologised, passing Patrick a set of headphones at the clock ticked to 10:57pm. “At least we have this now. Hopefully this’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, I hope so too.”

As the clock ticked closer, Patrick felt himself feeling quite strange. The controls in front of him where so achingly familiar, and he watched silently as Pete flicked all the switches and adjusted the dials as the final song finished up of the last show. It felt so right to be back here, at the station, but the new studio and the numbness of his legs made him feel so alien.

“Welcome back to 91.7, Alternative FM!” The words rolled off Patrick’s tongue before he even had a chance to think about it. “Welcome to your new midnight show! I’m Patrick, and we’ve got a new voice starting on the station tonight, Pete!”

He meant to push the ‘applause’ button on the sound control panel, but his finger missed the button by about 2 inches. Thankfully, though, Pete caught him and quickly filled the silence.

“It’s great to be here! I’m super excited to be hosting with this living legend right here, and yeah! We’ve got a great show planned for you tonight, so strap in for the next few hours and we’re gonna have a great time.”

Patrick gave him a nod of approval, and picked up. “We’re going to start tonight off with a little blast from the past! Over the past 10 years, we’ve had an incredible number of amazing alternative hits. But we’re going to start back in the old glory days of 2009, and play the top 10 alternative songs of 2009. Later in the show we’ve got the current best songs on the scene, a chat about what the best 5 foods on this planet are, and best of all, we’ll be showcasing some of Chicago’s latest and greatest talent.”

“But first, let’s head back to ten years ago. Let’s start off with an old favourite of mine at number 10, Kids, by MGMT.”

Pete hit the button, and then they were off the air. Patrick sighed and sipped some of his water, and Pete turned to him with a strange smile on his face.

“What?”

“You just, you sound different on the radio. Like I’ve never heard you talk like you just did in normal conversation.” Pete shrugged, failing to hide a smile.

“Huh.” Patrick mumbled. “Nobody’s ever mentioned that before.”

The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. His radio personality was, well, his old personality. He used to be so popular _because_ he was the kid on the radio. The way he talked, presented himself. It was ll that happy, bubbly person who had just spoken on the air. But Patrick wasn’t that person most of the time. It was almost like he was pretending to be who he used to be. God, that was a weird thought.

“It’s… it’s just been a rough couple of weeks.” He managed eventually. “I guess you haven’t really seen me at my best, huh?”  
“Is this your best?”

“Far from it.”

“Then probably not. I used to listen to your show all the time though, I know you from there.”

Patrick smiled slightly, playing with his fingers as he remembered the fun of the Afternooners show. “Yeah, that’s probably more me. I guess I just… yeah.”

He didn’t want to straight up come out and say that the reason he was miserable was because of his injury, but it was implied. Of course a spinal injury is going to make you fucking depressed. You can only loose so much before it takes a toll on your personality, and Patrick had passed that point months ago.

Pete leaned over and put his hand on top of Patrick’s. “It’s all good. I get it. I just sorta guessed that. But it’s all good, don’t stress.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“All good!” Pete chirped, straightening himself back up in the chair. “I’ll sort you out. We’re gonna have a good time.”

Patrick rolled his eyes playfully, but chuckled nonetheless. “Good to know.”

It all came back so naturally, the song announcements, the conversations, the controls. The familiar weight of the station headphones was always comforting, and Pete wasn’t actually that bad on the radio. He knew what to say, had a sweet voice, and always seemed to know what he was saying.

Maybe Patrick wouldn’t _hate_ working with him. Sure, he’d need a little bit of coaching, but the kid seemed to have it down pat. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long before they’d be on the 7:30 – 11pm slot, and then slowly make their way down to prime time.

“So, here at the station, we have this amazing receptionist named Meagan, who brings in all these amazing cookies for us to share.” Patrick introduced his first conversation segment, and smiled at Pete while he spoke. “And they’ve become a bit of a favourite around the station, and the other day, our friend Brendon, who you were listening to earlier tonight, announced that if he wouldn’t have a problem if the only thing he had to eat for the rest of his life were these cookies. And that got me thinking, if you could only eat a certain number of foods for the rest of your life, what would you pick?”

“Just the one food?”

“Maybe 3.” Patrick offered.

“5? I think we need to settle with 5. There’s 5 food groups, aren’t there? So five foods.”

Patrick chuckled softly. “Fine. What sort of food do you think you’d want to pick for the five foods you can eat for the rest of your life?”

“If I were to say pizza, do I have to say like one type of pizza, or does pizza allow for a variety of different types of pizza?”

Patrick raised an eyebrow. “I let you have 5 foods. Only one type of pizza, or then it’s pretty much your regular diet anyway, right?”

Pete burst out laughing at that. “Okay, okay. So pepperoni pizza would be number one. Then I’d probably have to put down a classic PB&J, because you can’t go past a classic. Maybe mac and cheese too, I guess.”

Patrick cut in. “Are you in elementary school?”

“I wish I was?”

“Fair enough. You’ve got the diet for it.”

Pete laughed. “Shut up. Uh, maybe add sushi to the list? And then maybe finish off with something sweet, so like, ice cream. Yeah. That would make me pretty happy for the rest of my life, I think.”

“Pizza, PB&J, mac and cheese and ice cream. Even sushi isn’t that good for you. You’re not gonna be managing your weight very well.”

“Here for a good time, not a long time, my friend.” Pete winked.

Patrick laughed. “What about you guys? What would be your five foods? Give us a call and we’ll chat about it. But now, let’s go to Crave, by Waterparks.”

There were no callers, but Patrick wasn’t expecting any. It was nearly 1 in the morning. People didn’t call into radio at 1 in the morning. Especially not on a Monday. But that was okay, Patrick could manage that. He just waited for the song to end, and then jumped into his five picks that he’d carefully detailed out at home, but pretended they were spontaneous.

“I guess I’d say sushi, like you, for the first one. Then maybe… maybe I’d have peanut butter sandwiches, as my easy to make thing. Then I’d say potatoes, because they’re awesome, and then maybe vindaloo, because that’s my favourite. And I think I’d put my last one as a burrito. Yeah. That’s my mix.”

“No sweet thing?” Pete asked with an eyebrow raised.

Patrick shrugged uncomfortably. “Doctor says I gotta watch my calories.”

“Ah. That fucking sucks. Just pretend tha-”

“PETE!” Patrick squeaked, attempting to jam his finger onto the ‘next song’ button.

“Shit, was that offensive? Sorry, dude!”

“Pete!” Patrick attempted to hit the button again, but only managed to bring on the sound effects. “We can’t swear on the radio!”

“What? Of course we can. It’s 1 in the morning.”

“No, we can’t! Fucking hell!”

“Now you swore!” Pete laughed, but Patrick was desperately trying to hit the next song button and get his nightmare over with.

“Get us off the air!” He demanded quickly, giving up on his hands.

When Pete did, Patrick was almost going red in panic. “Pete, t-this is a community station, right?! We can’t swear! Not when it’s in the funding stuff!”

His smile vanished, and Patrick watched as the panic sunk in. “Oh…”

“It’s literally rule number one!” Patrick snapped. “Did you not read the conduct book?!”

“I… I thought I did…” Pete stammered, before sighing. “I skimmed it.”

_What a brilliant start back to the radio._

“Dude, you right?” Pete asked, noticing that the red complexion wasn’t fading. “Patrick?”

“I-I-“ Patrick opened his mouth to respond, but had to focus on getting oxygen before he say anything.

“Shit, dude!” Pete panicked, grabbing Patrick’s water bottle from the table and pushing it into his hand. “Breathe!”  
Patrick was trying, did he not see that?! In for three, out for three. In for two, out for two. In for one, out for one, and now he was hyperventilating as he tried to get the air he needed.

He tried water, but his hand twitched and the bottle spat the water all over his lap before he could even get it to his lap. Now his clothes were soaked, his water was gone, and he still couldn’t breathe.

Pete sprinted out of the room, presumably to go and get more water, and Patrick was alone as he tried to convince his body to start working again. In and out and in and out and in and out. The techniques they taught him at physio worked normally when he got winded, but when he shouted or started panicking, they weren’t much use at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!!
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support for this book so far. I've been in a dark place for the past few weeks and sort-of been vent-writing this book as a coping mechanism for everything. But I'm doing a lot better now, getting the help I need, and managed to avoid being admitted to hospital so thank you all. I really don't think I could have gotten through it all without your lovely comments.
> 
> I drew a picture! I draw too sometimes but I've never had the motivation to post them alongside my stories, so this was a new thing and I had to figure it out, but I got there. I don't know if it will be a regular thing, but it felt nice to do it for this chapter and idk I hope you like it. If you like my weird art stuff, I post more doodles on @secretjungle88 on instagram and tumblr.
> 
> Thank you again for all the support, you've kept me alive and out of hospital since I started writing this book. Thank you <3
> 
> \- SJ


	8. It's Everything I Hate with Nothing That I Love

Patrick hated ventilators.

He was always unconscious when they put one in, so he never got the chance to deny them or refuse. Instead, once again, he woke up in the hospital with a tube down his throat and another in his stomach.

It was never the ventilator itself that proved to be the problem. Sure, it was a little bit uncomfortable, and meant he couldn’t call out to his Mom, but it pushed air in and out of his stupid lungs and kept them working. It was the process of removing it that was always the issue. It was such a lengthy process, which generally included removing the tube, throwing up a couple of times, having a nurse press a mask to his face to steady his breathing, then taking that away, then bringing that back when he couldn’t breathe, then slowly moving to oxygen tubes in his nose, and then just crying from the pain until it subsided.

No matter how many times he went through this, it was never made any less embarrassing. It was a job that required a team of nurses, and there was nothing he could do to make it less awkward. Every single time he ended up crying on his Mom’s shoulder while she held him upright, and humiliating himself even more.

“I know, pumpkin. It’s all out now. Just a few minutes and you’ll feel lots better.” Patricia hummed softly, running her hand through Patrick’s hair.

“H-How long… was I out?” He managed, praying to god that it wasn’t a week like last time.

“Not long, sweetheart. You were brought in at 2am and it’s dinnertime now. Not too long.” Patricia assured, and Patrick breathed a sigh of relief.

“Can I go home… soon?”

“Once you’re off your oxygen, then you’ll be alright.” She rubbed his shoulder affectionately. “What happened, pumpkin?”

“I… I got mad at Pete… and yelled, and… yeah…” Patrick stopped every few words or so to take deep breaths. “Yeah… and then when I yelled… It got bad and… then I spilt some water… and I don’t remember… after that.”

Patricia sighed. “Okay. Well, it’s over now, and your first show is always the pilot for a reason. You’ll get to try again, don’t worry. I’m sure you and Pete will figure it out eventually. He really seems like a lovely boy, I really hope you two become good friends.”

Patrick furrowed his brows, and Patricia pointed to a vase of flowers beside the hospital bed. “He dropped in, around lunchtime, just to check how you were. He brought some flowers and we had a nice talk. He seems really lovely.”

“He _came_?”

“He was worried about you.” Patricia nodded. “It was really sweet of him.”

Patrick took his deep breaths and thought about that. _None_ of his friends from school came and visited the hospital after the accident, and he’d viewed them as his lifelong best friends. Pete had come to visit after something as small as a breathing complication, and Patrick only viewed him as a colleague.

He felt a bit bad about that. He probably owed Pete a little bit more respect. It wasn’t that he was _mean_ to him or anything, but he did feel like he was the mentor in their relationship. But they were the same age, and Pete seemed to genuinely _care_. That was a really strange feeling.

“Can you… text him and let him… know I’m awake?” Patrick asked slowly. “Just to let him… know that I’m okay… and thank him… for the flowers…. They’re…. really nice.”

Patricia nodded, picking up her son’s phone and sending the message. Most of the time, Patrick used voice control to send messages – texting required motor control that he didn’t have. But while his lungs were out, it seemed best to let his Mom do this for him.

“The move is going well.” Patricia said eventually, interrupting the silence. “I stayed with you but Paul and the twins moved most the furniture over today. There’s still a few bits and pieces at home, but the day after tomorrow is the big day and we’ll be in the new house by the end of the week.”

Guilt poured through him. _Today_ was meant to be the big day, and tonight was meant to be their first night in the new house. Obviously they pushed it back because he got mad at Pete on the radio. He knew his boundaries – he knew that he wasn’t supposed to raise his voice, and he did anyway. And now his entire family was dealing with the aftermath of his bad decisions.

“Hey, pumpkin, this isn’t your fault.” Patricia noticed his worried expression. “We’re going to be fine. The house can wait. You can’t. These sorts of things are going to happen from time to time, okay? But there’s no problems with that. We’ll always be by your side, and from the looks of things, it looks like Pete is going to be as well. Stop stressing, baby. You’ll be out of here and into your new bed in no time.”

\------------

Patrick didn’t like his new bed.

The new room was nice. It was very large – with a wide doorframe and turning points designed so Patrick could get around easily. There was a spacious desk with his computer setup ready for him, a window that was low enough so he could see out of it into the green backyard, and an ensuite, with accessible showers and a low counter so he could brush his teeth and look into the mirror without any trouble.

But Patrick was silent as he stared at the bed. His Mom had gone to the effort of trying to make it look nice for him, with new fluffy blankets and a mountain of pillows, but that didn’t hide what it was – a hospital bed. It was silver and clunky and had a remote control and looked so… _clinical._

“What, what happened to my other bed?” Patrick hesitantly looked up at his mother, who was expecting this sort of reaction.

She sighed softly and rubbed his shoulder. “This one’s important to help you transfer, and to stop pressure sores. I know it’s not what you were hoping for, but it’s so much better to have a healthy Patrick then it is to have complications down the road.”

“Mom…”

“Sweetheart, it’s a place to lay your head at night. That’s all. Nobody is going to look at your bed and judge you for it. Nobody is even going to _see_ your bed, other than us. If you have people over, you don’t have to bring them to your room. The lounge has _plenty_ of room for as many friends as you want. It’s not a big deal.”

Patrick let out a slow breath, and nodded. It would have to do. It probably cost an arm and a leg, and he had 0% chance of his mother returning it. Even if it represented everything he hated about himself.

“Paul’s making sandwiches if you want one.” Patricia smiled down at her son, and turned back to the doorway. “Let me know if you need anything. I think Travie’s coming around at 3 to check everything’s good with the fittings, and then we’ll be all set here. Why don’t you give your friends a call? I’m sure they’d love to hear from you.”

Patrick sighed once he was alone. He doubted his friends wanted to hear from him – they hadn’t wanted to hear from him as soon as they heard the news about his injuries. To be frank, Patrick probably wouldn’t mind if he never saw any of the kids from school again. They’d abandoned him in his time of need, and he had learned their true colours. There was no point in contacting any of them. He was dead to them anyway.

The computer desk in his new room was nice, he decided. Laying his phone on the desk, and flicking the switch to bring his clunky laptop to life, he glanced around once again. There was still a lot of unpacking to be done, especially his music collection, but that had to wait for another time. His Mom needed to unpack the kitchen and the family office first, as well as the kid’s things, and then it was his turn again. For now, he just had to deal with the ugly bed, the ventilator on the nightstand, and the shelf of various medications to keep his body functioning.

He popped some extra painkillers, just to be safe. He’d only just been discharged from the hospital that morning, and if Travie saw him in any pain this afternoon, he’d be sent straight back.

When his computer turned on, there were a few emails sitting in his inbox. One from Meagan, sending wishes and some very 90’s-looking get well soon GIFS, and then there was one from Mark, wishing him to get well soon, and then a message about _we need to talk._ Patrick sighed at that one, and filed it away. It was easier to avoid things when they’re sectioned off into a ‘read later’ pile.

But then there was one from Pete.

_Hey Patrick!_

_I hope you’re doing well. I heard you got discharged this morning, so that’s pretty cool. I’m sorry about the swearing on the radio thing, I’ve read up on the station’s code of conduct books, and I think we’re all good to go for the future. Sorry, dude. I’ll try to avoid sending you to the hospital in the future. But anyway, the show has been going okay while you’ve been unwell. Mark wanted me to keep broadcasting, but I kept it fairly minimal because we need to work together for this show to be pretty cool. I’ve been listening to some of your old stuff, and I really like the discussion segments that you were trying to bring into our show. I’m just not sure I’m conversational enough for them. We can try it though! I really want this to work out and be a cool thing for the two of us._

_Anyway, I hope your well. I’m glad you liked the flowers, my Grandma runs a flower shop and sometimes I volunteer there. I think you’d like it. I’ll take you some time. I’d love to catch up before you come back to the station, I think Mark wants you to take some time off to focus on your health. But from what I’ve learned about you, I don’t think you’ll want to do that. Workaholic, LOL._

_Anyway, I’ll see you around! Summer break is starting so I’ve got plenty of time on my hands. Give me a call at any time and we can go and do something. I’m not great at social situations but I’m pretty good when it’s just one person. I don’t know. I hope you’re doing okay, and I’ll see you around._

  * _P-Weezy_



Patrick rolled his eyes and moved it to the garbage.

It wasn’t that the message was mean, or that Patrick was the type of person to delete emails once he’d read them. No, instead Patrick was mad. He was holding onto an anger that wasn’t as valid as he wanted it to be (sure, Pete had been the one to accidently swear on the radio, but he wasn’t responsible for Patrick’s shitty lungs), and was taking it out on this tiny act of kindness.

Who did Pete think he was, emailing Patrick like this? A bunch of flowers and a dorky email weren’t enough to make up for literally putting someone in the hospital. Pete was going to have to do a _lot_ more than that, especially considering that he’d _kept_ broadcasting while Patrick wasn’t there.

That was a bit of a dick move.

Pete was going to have to make it up to him before they started back on the radio, and hopefully that would be sooner rather than later.

\------

Patrick spent the better half of the afternoon practicing getting around his new home, much to the amusement of his younger siblings, and then dealt with Travie watching him doing all the same to double-check that it was all perfectly aligned.

Travie, at least, seemed happy with the place. There were bits and pieces he wanted to change up, mostly the bathroom, but everything else was all ready for a person with a spinal injury to be able to live (mostly) independently.

Which was good, because that was what Patrick wanted. What sucked was that there was no excuse now for if Patrick needed help for anything. Well, there would be in the beginning, because he was still building up his strength and learning the new techniques, but in the long-term, if he needed help getting out of bed, then that was nobody’s fault but his own.

There was a handle above his new bed. Fixed to the wall, Travie had positioned it in a position that was meant to be easy to grab so he could pull himself up. The problem was that his fingers just refused to grip it in any meaningful way, and every attempt to get into a something-sitting position ended up with Patrick flopping back onto the mattress and groaning in frustration.

“This is your permanent environment now.” Travie would tell him. “This is a necessary skill. Keep pulling.”

“I _can’t._ ” Patrick gritted his teeth and caught his breath.

“Of course you can.” Travie retorted. “You’re not going to get any stronger by lying in bed all the time.”

Patrick just swore under his breath and hoped that this session was nearly over.

\-------

_Hey Patrick!_

_Just sending another follow-up email. I hope you’re doing okay. Mark said you and your family were moving into a new place so I understand if you’ve been busy. A new house is pretty exciting! I hope it’s everything you want it to be. The station is a bit lonely without you. I nearly fell asleep while broadcasting the other day, LOL. Anyway, can’t wait to have you back. I went and bought an air purifier for the studio and it now smells of lavender instead of dust, so that’s pretty cool._

_Let me know if you’re free and want to hang out. I don’t have a social life so honestly message me whenever and I’ll be right over._

_Hope you’re doing well,_

_P-Weezy_

Another email, another junk folder. Patrick had been ignoring the past couple. Pete had been sending them almost daily, and Patrick was getting a bit fed up with it. The guy just needed to learn how to respect space, _especially_ when he’d sent Patrick to the hospital a week prior. No, he wasn’t over that. And no, he didn’t _want_ to be over that yet. It gave him a good reason for the grey cloud he carried over his head, and he wasn’t ready to give that up yet.

“What game are you playing?” A small voice asked, appearing behind Patrick and glancing at the computer screen.

“Ignoring mean friends.” Patrick mumbled in response to his younger brother.

“Oh.” Eli considered this for a moment. “Are you winning?”

Patrick sighed. “Nope.”

“Can I play? I might be good at it.”

“No, Eli…” He rubbed his eyes while trying to comprehend how to explain the situation. “I’m just mad at a friend of mine and I’m ignoring him because I’m mad.”

“Why are you mad at him?”

“Because he hurt me and made me sick for a few days and it was very bad.”

“Why?”

“Well, he didn’t _mean_ to.” Patrick muttered, turning his chair to face his sibling. “I just, I’m just mad because it was really bad and I don’t want to be friends for a little while.”

“That’s okay.” Eli smiled, a big toothy grin taking over his face. “You can be my friend! I found Daddy’s chocolate so it’s gonna be a fun time when you’re my friend.”

Patrick sighed softly, and offered a small smile to his younger brother. “Okay, sounds good. But you gotta ask your Daddy first, or we’re gonna get in trouble for taking it.”

“But he’ll say no!”

“Then we can’t have it.”

Eli frowned, and folded his arms. “You’re not a good friend!”

Patrick sighed again, and looked down at his hands. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey beans!!
> 
> Sorry I've been a lil bit absent. I've been going through some stuff but I'm back now and also doing a lot better. Had a birthday, got a bit older, a bit wiser, and a therapist lol. Thank you for hanging around and I hope you're having an incredible day!
> 
> SJ


	9. Stop Thinking I Like You, Because I Don't

The radio booth had been cleaned.

Pete was smiling proudly as Patrick entered for the first time in many months. The desk had been cleaned of all its grime, the dusty walls now repainted, and fresh new triangle foam stuck on to make it feel more professional. The old cupboards that had been shoved in here to clear space in the offices had been taken out, giving the entire room a much more open feel. Pete had even brought in some new lamps to make it feel less like the old, dark studio it was, and more like a fun and happy place to work.

It didn’t look anything like the new studios that had been renovated, but it was it’s own thing. Pete had added a few plants and decorations to make the studio feel homely, and even though Patrick wouldn’t admit it to his face, it was working.

“Nice, huh?” Pete grinned, sitting down on his chair at their table. “I was thinking that if we’re going to be spending a lot of time here then we need it to be a much better working environment.”

“Yeah… it’s good.” Patrick mumbled in response, getting himself set up for his first shift back after a few weeks off. God, he’d missed this place. “You read up on the conduct book, yeah?”

Pete threw it onto the table. “Twice. And highlighted the important bits.”

“Okay, good.” Patrick breathed. “We’re just going to have an easy night tonight, okay? No experimenting, no new segments, nothing crazy. We’ve just got to take it slow. Also I spent all day at physio so I’m exhausted and, yeah…”

“Are you okay?”

He waved his hand. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Pete frowned at that, and pulled his chair in closer to the microphone. “Look, dude, I know I messed up last time, but I’ve learned and I’m not going to be terrible. You can trust me, you know? We’re going to be partners so we need to trust each other in order for the radio show to work.”

Patrick just pushed his glasses up, and glared at his partner. “Trust is something you have to earn. And at the moment, you’re at like negative 10 trust points.”

“C’mon, dude-“

Patrick cut him off by starting the microphone up and starting their show for the evening. “The time is 10:59PM and you’re listing to Alternative FM! Welcome back to the Midnight Show, with Pete and Patrick! It’s great to have you back! We’ve got a great show of easy, laid back alternative grooves tonight, so let’s get straight into it!”

Pete sighed softly, and folded his arms. Patrick knew for a fact that he’d probably hurt this kid’s feelings, but this kid was the reason he now had to sleep with a ventilator, so it wasn’t a huge deal in the grand scheme of things.

\----

It was 3am, the show was over, and it was time to finally go home and get some sleep. Pete had been nursing several cups of coffee during the show, and Patrick had been trying to nap during the music segments instead of fighting the tiredness that was eating away at him. But it was finally time to head home, head back to that stupid, stupid bed of his. He was going to sleep _all_ day tomorrow. It was going to be _amazing._

“How are you getting home?” Pete asked as they reached the station carpark.

Patrick checked his phone. _3:12am._ “I told Mom 3:15 so she should be here soon.”

“Okay, cool.” Pete leaned back on the wall. “I’ll wait with you.”

“How are _you_ getting home?”

“Oh, I’m driving.” Pete gestured to an SUV in the back of the parking lot. “Dad lets me use his car at night considering we work such weird hours.”

“Oh.” Patrick answered. “That’s cool.”

It was not cool. There was still a driver’s licence in Patrick’s wallet. Sure, he knew that he couldn’t use it anymore, and it wasn’t really worth carrying around, but it was comforting to have it with him. He used to drive the kids to school, and had the freedom that his licence offered. These days, he didn’t even have the freedom to leave his house without help, but that wasn’t what was bothering him about this. It was just hearing about how the other kids his age had access to the things that had been taken away from him, that was a painful reminder of how much he’d lost.

“You don’t have to wait around with me. I’ll be fine.” He added after a few moments of silence.

“I want to.” Pete responded.

Patrick sighed. He would’ve thought that his messages about how much he disliked this guy would have sunk in by now.

The clock reached 3:15, and then passed that. The two sat in silence, until the clock ticked over to 3:30.

“Dude, are you sure she’s coming?”

“Yeah, she said she’d be here.”

“Have you called her?”

“I’ve tried.”

“No answer?”

Patrick sighed. “She’s probably driving. The new place is a lot further away from here than the old one.”

Pete didn’t seem convinced. “Dude, it’s 3 in the morning. She’s probably _asleep._ ”

“Mom wouldn’t do that.” Patrick rebutted, although he was also trying to reassure himself of that fact. “She, she knows what time we finished and she knows that she’s my way home and she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t fall asleep.”

“It’s not exactly hard to fall asleep at 3am.” Pete said gently. “Let me drive you home. We can knock on the door and it’ll all work out. She probably fell asleep in front of the TV.”

“I…. I might just wait. You can go home if you want. She’ll be here soon.”

Pete sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. “I’m not leaving until you do.”

Patrick tried to call his mother again. And then again. And then again. When it hit the fourth voicemail, Pete stood up straight and picked his bag up. “Okay. Enough. I’m dropping you home. Let’s _go._ ”

Patrick didn’t have a lot of options here. Pete was going to stay with him if he decided to stay, which meant he was keeping this kid up and in the morning cold for many more hours. Pete was exhausted and probably wanted to crash into bed as much as Patrick did, which was a hell of a lot. Plus, the sooner he let Pete drop him home, the sooner he got to bed. So reluctantly, he released the brakes on his chair and followed Pete to his car.

“Pete, I, uh… I might… uh… I don’t think this is a good car for me…”

“Hmm? No, it’s all good.” Pete opened the passenger door. “You hop in and I’ll put the chair in the trunk and we’re good to go.”

Patrick stared at the destination car seat, which was currently at his eye level. How did Pete expect him to transfer to something like _that_? He couldn’t even _reach_ the handle on the ceiling to use as leverage. SUV’s were no longer Patrick’s friends. But how was he even supposed to explain that? _Sorry, Pete, I’m too crippled to even get into your fucking car._

“Dude, I… I can’t reach the chair.”

Pete’s face fell as soon as the realisation hit him. “Oh, sorry! Sorry, sorry, dude. Here, I’ll lift-“

“No! No!” Patrick put his hands up in self-defence. “There’s, there’s other stuff. There’s seatbelts and clips and all sorts of stuff first! And, and, just, I-“

“I’m not going to hurt you, dude. You can trust me.” Pete responded, despite knowing Patrick’s stance on the whole ‘trust’ status.

“Just, just be careful because I… I can’t move a whole lot.”

“All good, dude. I got you.”

“No, Pete, I mean it.” Patrick pleaded. “Like, it was my neck I broke. As soon as you unclip me, you gotta hold on or I’m gonna fall.”

Pete considered that, before putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder for support. “Okay. Just trust me and we’re going to be fine.”

Not really. Pete’s ideas of what a successful transfer looked like included lifting Patrick bridal-style out of his chair and then gingerly placing him down on the car seat. Patrick tried to convince himself that he was fine, but once he was out of his chair, then it was hard to convince himself of that fact.

His chair was his independence. Without it, then he was completely at the mercy of whoever was around him. It wasn’t too bad when it was Mom, or when it was hospital staff who knew how to deal with him, but when it was Pete fucking Wentz who had left the car door open while putting Patrick’s chair in the trunk, the anxiety was hard to ignore.

He ended up pulling himself over the cupholders to make sure he didn’t fall out onto the bitumen. He could get a good grip on the steering wheel with his right hand, and that was all the reassurance he needed. It also provided a decent distraction from the metal sounds that were coming from the back of Pete trying to fold his wheelchair up so it would fit.

But finally, they were both in the car. Pete closed his door, and climbed in the driver’s seat, and stared at Patrick’s hand on the wheel. “Dude, what are you doing?”

“You left the door open!” Patrick accused. “I, I didn’t want to fall!”

“So you… deliberately fell over onto my side?”

“Well, it’s better than falling out of the car!”

There was silence for a moment as Pete comprehended the possible danger he’d left his radio host in, and Patrick huffed slightly to demonstrate his anger. Patrick was hoping that _maybe_ Pete would learn from that, but instead he just gently pushed Patrick’s shoulder until he was in an upright position. “There we go.”

“Dude, DUDE! DUDE I’M GONNA-“

Without any sort of restraint or strap holding him in that position, his posture crumbled, and Patrick face-planted straight into the dash.

“Shit!” Pete yelled, jumping to grab him.

“No, no, just leave me here.” Patrick tried to swat Pete’s hand away. “At least like this I’m not going to fall anymore. It’s, this is fine. It’s not a long drive.”

“Dude, I’m not going to-“

“Well, unless you want me to fall while you’re driving, then just fucking _leave_ me.” Patrick muttered, the late night bringing out his unfiltered bitterness.

“Okay, okay.” Pete sighed, bringing the engine to life. “Sorry, dude. I’m just trying to make sure you’re comfortable.”

_Comfortable my ass._

They drove in silence, and painful awkwardness. By the time that they reached Patrick’s place, he was well and truly done with this kid. He was so over tonight, and was just keen to sleep it all off.

But before that came more painful transfers, Pete struggling to understand the seatbelt system, and Patrick wishing his Mom was here. By the time they got to the front door, it had been almost 10 minutes since they’d pulled up.

Patrick tried to open the front door, but it was locked. Then he knocked a few times, and felt himself start sweating anxiously when there was no answer.

  “She’s probably asleep. It’s all good though. I’ll jump the fence and see if there’s any open doors.” Pete offered, disappearing before Patrick had time to argue.

Patrick sighed and maneuverer his chair so he could rest his head against the house. His whole body ached, especially his neck now that he’d been awake for almost 20 hours. He needed his pain meds. He had some old ones in his backpack, but they weren’t as good as the new stuff that he’d gotten recently. Bed was so close, yet so far at this point.

“Dude… your house is like, locked up tight.”

Patrick blinked. “What?”

“Every door and window is like, bolted shut.” Pete panted, wiping some sweat from his forehead. “Look, let’s head to mine. You can stay until it’s normal waking hours. We’ve got a spare room.”

“Pete…”

Patrick couldn’t find the words. How was he supposed to tell Pete that it wasn’t as simple as ‘spending the night as his place’? As much as he wanted to, and avoid sitting out on this cold, cold porch, it wouldn’t ever be simple for Patrick again. He didn’t want to tell Pete the reasons why he couldn’t just crash at his place. These sorts of things required planning, and time. He needed to make sure that Pete’s place was accessible, and then there needed to be an hour of physio exercises, he needed his compression pants to make sure his blood kept pumping through the night, and then there was the cocktail of medications that he relied upon for pain, blood, _functioning._ Then of course was the fact he needed his special mattress for pressure sores, and then the ventilator, and since he’d complained to his physio this morning, his neck brace too.

Going to bed wasn’t simple anymore. It was a long routine that needed to be performed meticulously or Patrick was going to end up in a world of hurt.

“Big comfy bed, Mom will make us breakfast, and y’know, fun sleepover.” Pete offered a tired smile. “I’m not letting you wait here until your Mom wakes up. It’s 4 in the morning and we both need to sleep.”

“There’s, there’s stuff I _need_ to sleep.” Patrick tried to explain, discomfort obvious in his face. “I… I have a ventilator and medications and there’s… stuff I need. And it’s all in there.”

“Dude, whether you stay here, or whether you come with me, you’re not getting it either way.” Pete folded his arms. “You probably have better odds at my place. C’mon, I’ll get you better set up in the car this time.”

_Fuck._

“Fine.”

\----

A bedtime routine at someone else’s control was about as terrifying as Patrick expected it to be. To his credit, Pete was trying his best. But he also had absolutely no idea what he was doing, and Patrick was just trying to hold himself together through the awkward conversations of why he didn’t want help getting changed into pyjamas (these clothes would be fine until morning, and he didn’t need Pete helping him change), and about why he needed many cups of water to take a pile of emergency medications he had in his backpack.

But in the end, he was in a bed, and he was in a safe place for the night. He wasn’t sure if he was going to make it through the night, considering he didn’t have his ventilator, but that all changed when Pete opened the door and walked in in a set of pyjama pants and a loose t-shirt.

“What are you doing?” Patrick blinked, praying to god that this guy would leave and just let him _sleep._

“My bedroom is on the second floor and I dunno, man, but I don’t want to leave you down here all alone. I’ll just be here in case something happens.”

“We’re sharing a bed?”

“Is that okay?”

Patrick rested his head back, and sighed. It wasn’t like he was going to be moving around much in his sleep anyway. “I… I need the blanket because I can’t get warm very easily, so just, as long as you’re not a blanket hog, then we’re good.”

Pete snorted at that, and climbed in beside him. “Okay. No worries. Night, dude.”

“Night.”


	10. I Can't Believe I'm Still Breathing

Patrick was alive.

He woke up, in Pete’s spare bed. But as soon as he realised where he was and had snapped out of his sleepy haze, he couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. He’d slept without any of his medications, any of his equipment, and he _hadn’t_ died during the night.

Incredible.

The next thing he noticed was that his neck was aching, badly. But then, after glancing around, he noticed a hand on his chest. Pete’s hand.

Not that Pete was actively pressing on his chest (not that he could feel it, but it didn’t look that way), but instead Pete had just curled up and fallen asleep beside him. There was a soft mop of dark brown hair on his shoulder, and a hand resting on his chest that rose and fell as Patrick breathed.

“Pete?” Patrick whispered softly, wondering if he was awake. When the warm body on his right side didn’t move, he tried to gently lift his left hand to shake his friend awake, only to suddenly let out a sharp cry of pain that ripped all through the left side of his body.

“Are you okay?!” Pete awoke with a start. The dark circles under his eyes showed that he hadn’t had a lot of sleep, but the worry and concern easily broke through the tiredness.

Patrick winced, and relaxed his arm, hoping the pain would slowly fade away. After a few seconds of awkward silence and a few forced breaths, he eased Pete’s worry. “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.”

“Okay, good.” Pete shuffled over to give Patrick a little bit more of the bed. “Do you want to get up? Or are you okay to stay here? Or, breakfast maybe? I think there’s some cereal in the cupboard.”

He was silent for a moment, trying to work out a response to that. In the end, he decided to be fairly truthful. “Pete, I, I couldn’t lift my arm to wake you up. I can’t, I’m not going to be able to-“ Patrick cut himself off, and sighed softly. “Do you have my phone? I need to call my Mom.”

“Oh yeah, sure dude.” He leaned over and grabbed the device, before blinking slowly. “Shit.”

“What?”

“53 missed calls from her.”

Patrick sighed at that. “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. Um, would you, uh, can you call her and put it on speaker for me?”

It was a slow few seconds with the dial tone ringing, but neither of them were expecting the onslaught of apologies to come from such a small speaker.

“PATRICK! Sweetheart I’ve been calling you all morning! I’m so sorry!” She was speaking so fast that Patrick could hardly understand a word she was saying. “Where are you?! I went to the station but you weren’t there and god, I’m so sorry, Paul and I were watching movies to stay awake and we just-“

“Mom, mom, I’m _fine._ ” Patrick cut her off with a loud sigh. “I’m at Pete’s house. I’m fine.”

“Okay, thank god.” She breathed. “What’s the address? I’ll come and get you, I’m so sorry, ‘Trickster, this will never happen again!”

“Mom, please, just, _chill_.” Patrick sighed. “I’ll get Pete to text you the address. I… I need my medications, a change of clothes, and, and _please_ just, my medications.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Is it bad this morning?”

“Uh huh.” Patrick mumbled, painfully aware that Pete was listening to this entire conversation.

“There should be some more emergency meds in your bag. When did you take the last ones?”

“About 4?”

She was silent for a moment. “You’re going to have to wait 2 more hours. You can only take them every 6. But I’ll bring over the rest of them and we’ll have a talk to Travie this afternoon about-“

“Mom, Pete’s here, please, just, hurry…”

She ended the sentence abruptly at that. “Okay, I’m on my way sweetheart. Text me the address.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Pete picked the phone up and tapped the address in without prompting, and Patrick mumbled a thank you. He wasn’t really sure what to say next, considering the two of them were now just lying silently in bed. It wasn’t as if he could just get up, either.

Pete could though, and Pete did. He disappeared out of the room and returned a few minutes later with two cups of coffee, resting one on the bedside table. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Patrick mumbled, glancing at it. He _would_ reach up and take a sip, but after the last time he tried to move his arm, it was probably better to take it slowly.

“You, uh…” Pete scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “You want me to help you out of bed?”

The first few times Patrick had transferred to and from his wheelchair had been a terrifying experience. He could still recount the first time – it was the day he was moving from the hospital to the rehab centre. Before that moment, the injury wasn’t quite real. Sure, he knew what the doctors had been telling him, and he hadn’t been able to wiggle his toes when they did the daily checks, but he was comfortable in the bed, with everyone bringing him whatever he needed, and the television playing all his favourite movies.

And then it was time to leave, and he went from the bed to the old, clunky hospital chair that they had on rental until his fancy one came in the post. Then he was sitting while everyone else was standing, unable to manoeuvre himself around, while everyone looked down at him with pity in their eyes. That day, the chair meant defeat. It was a weakness, a liability. It represented everything that had been taken away from him.

As Pete helped him through the most awkward transfer he’d ever done, the chair still represented those things. But now, a few months later, it also represented his freedom and his independence. Sure, he was still the same kid that resented everything about the chair, but he sure was glad to have it back now. Pete had been a good host, but that didn’t mean that relying on him wasn’t absolutely terrifying. Patrick couldn’t control a lot of things, but being back in control of his wheels was a huge relief.

Even if trying to reach for them sent bolts of pain through his body.

“Okay, okay, _stop._ ” Pete told him, more firmly than Patrick was expecting. “That’s hurting you. I can push you until your Mom gets here, okay? Stop that.”

“I-“ Patrick stared at his colleague for a moment, before letting out a soft sigh. “Okay.”

Pete’s kitchen was a nice place. He spent a while reading some sort of note left on the kitchen bench, before sighing himself and then tinkering around the cupboards and the fridge. “I thought we had cereal but I think Mom ate it before she left for work.”

“That’s alright. I probably couldn’t eat it anyway.”

“Mmm.” Pete sat down on a chair beside him to even out their height difference. “Sorry that this whole sleepover thing has been awkward as hell. I didn’t mean it to be. I, I guess I’m just that awkward.”

Patrick actually laughed at that. “Dude, _I’m_ the one that made this awkward. Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I get so picky about the little things, it’s just really fucking scary when Mom’s not around because, y’know, I’m still new to all this and, my step father is a bit of a dick about it so I just, yeah. I’m sorry.”

“It’s completely understandable, man.” Pete assured him. “I did okay, didn’t I?”

“You fucking slept with your hand on my chest to make sure I didn’t die last night.” Patrick smiled at him. “You did a hell of a good job, even if I was super weird about it.”

Pete smiled in response to that. “All good. I’m glad you made it through.”

It was weird to hear the words coming from his own lips in response. “Me too.”

 

 

\-----

 

 

Patrick got a very strong lecture that afternoon from Travie. Both him and Patricia got a long, long lecture about how important it was to stay on top of his medications, make sure he always had a spare key into the house, _especially_ considering he worked such ‘risky’ hours. After much more nodding than he was expecting to be doing today (his neck hurt _already_ after last night, why did Travie want to have such a nodding-intensive conversation?), Travie changed his conversation entirely.

“I’ve got good news for you.” He said with a small smile, leaning back on his chair.

“Good news?” Patrick answered unsurely.

“The patient that I was seeing in my 4:30pm slot has finished up treatment at the centre, and they’re moving back to their hometown. Which means that I can move _you_ to the 4:30 slot, which then means that you’re going to be able to start school at the beginning of the semester along with the rest of your classmates.”

Patrick froze.

“That’s great news!” Patricia bubbled, rubbing Patrick’s knee excitedly. “He was getting worried about falling further behind and possibly having to repeat, but if he can start back this year, then, then that’s not an issue!”

“I can’t go back to school, like, like _this!”_ Patrick panicked, holding his hands up in the air. “You, you haven’t _fixed_ me yet, I’m not _ready_!”

There was a moment of silence, before Travie took a deep breath. “I understand that this is a big step for you, Patrick, but you need to go back to school. The longer you put it off, the worse it’s going to get. It’s a leap of faith, but once you settle back into classes I really think this is going to be best for you.”

“Best for me? Travie, I, I can’t write! I can’t do, anything! How am I going to do assignments and tests when I can’t even get around my house by myself most of the time?!”

“It’s all about adaptability.” Travie spoke calmly about all this, and Patrick tried to control his frustrations. “You’ll have a learning plan and things put in place to help you with the things you can’t do. Every child is entitled to an education, Patrick, and you’re not getting out of it.”

Patrick tried to imagine himself sitting in a classroom and his stomach felt like it was doing somersaults. “I’m, I’m not going to some special school, okay? I’m _not._ ”

“You’re not going to a special school.” Travie confirmed. “You’re going back to your old school, with a few separate classes to help you catch up what you missed last year, but they’re only temporary. Other than a disability worker, and a few adaptive devices, it’ll be exactly the same.”

“Then, then that’s not the same at all!” Patrick countered. “How do you even expect me to get inside? There’s stairs out the front!”

“I’ve been talking with your school, Patrick. We’re making plans, starting to get things in place. We want this transition to be as smooth as possible for you, okay? We’re not trying to ruin your life, we’re not trying to torture you. We’re trying to make sure that you get the best education you can. It’s going to be hard at first, but you’re not going to get anywhere by sitting in your house for the rest of your life.” Travie told him. “And there’s a ramp at the back entrance, plus we’re working on sourcing you an elevator key.”

 

 

\--------

 

 

Considering that Patrick still refused to text Pete, because that would make them _friends,_ email was still the preferred method of communication. Much more professional, much more grown up. It kept that safe amount of distance between them, and Patrick preferred that tenfold.

_Hey, Patrick!_

_I hope everything worked out once you got home this morning! You seemed like you were in a lot of pain so I didn’t push anything too hard, but I’m glad you got home safe and hopefully everything worked out. If you ever need a ride home from the station, I’m totally down to give you a lift. I’ll bring my Mom’s car instead, it’s a lot lower and I think you’d probably find it a lot easier. But anyway, just wanted to check in. See you Monday night for work!_

_Pete._

Normally Patrick send his emails straight to the junk folder, but there was a lot on his chest tonight. Sure, the school thing was a stupid thing to complain about, but nobody in this house wanted to listen to him complain about it, so Pete was a good a set of ears as any.

_Hey Pete._

_I’m okay. Medications aren’t working great so it’s going to be a long weekend but I’m okay now. I went to physio this afternoon and apparently I managed to not break anything last night, so it’s all good. I’m just a bit stiff, but that’s fine. The big kicker was that he said I had to go back to school starting next semester, so I guess that means that we’re going back to school together. I know that it’s not something that I need to fear, but I just can’t picture myself going back in this state. It’s terrifying to think about and I know that I’m not ready for it, but my family has already organised everything and I’m going back to school in a month. It’s terrifying. I hope you’re feeling okay with it. I’m not sure I’ll see a lot of you because by the sounds of things I’m going to be shoved in some special ed room, but hey, you might see me in the halls sometime._

_See you Monday_

_Patrick._

 

 

_Patrick! You responded!_

_I was starting to think I had the wrong email address, LOL. Glad you got that one and you didn’t break anything! School is gonna be terrifying, but I mean, it can be the right kind of terrifying if you want it to be. Hell, you’re on wheels now. You can thunder down the corridors and pretty much run over anyone who gets in your way!_

_Seriously though, you’re going to be fine. You’re a kickass radio host, and a kickass friend. Anyone who disrespects you at school is going to have to face the wrath of me. We’re going to do this together. 2019 is going to be our year._

_Pete._


	11. I Don't Hate You

So Pete was now in charge of picking Patrick up and dropping him home from work, much to Patrick’s dismay. After one particularly bad pain day where he needed his Mom’s help to use his computer, she read the email suggesting that Pete could give him a lift, and decided that it was the greatest idea she’d ever heard.

She had a number of reasons as to why it was a better solution. _It means that I can stay to make sure that there’s someone here in case the kids wake up and get out of bed, it means that Paul can have some time to himself again, it means that we’ll save gas money, it means I can go to bed early so I can be awake to help you once you get home._

Realistically, Patrick knew that they were reasonable reasons. Especially considering his only response was _I still don’t like him all that much because he’s too nice to me and I don’t like it._

So now Pete not only knew where he lived, his mother had given him a spare key to Patrick’s house, and told him that he was welcome over any time he wanted. It would have been okay if he didn’t show up, but the problem was, he actually showed up.

And now Pete Wentz was at his door, and Patrick didn’t want a bar of him. He’d only just gotten home from physio, he was tired, he was in pain, and he didn’t want to deal with Pete’s shit during his _sit-angrily-and-stare-at-the-wall-while-listening-to-music_ time.

“What do you want?” Patrick muttered, blocking the entryway as best he could.

“I got bored.” Pete shrugged, a smile growing. “I was thinking maybe we could go and grab some dinner or something before work, just chill for a while.”

“Dinner.” Patrick repeated, before quickly shaking his head. “No, I don’t think-“

“It’s a great idea!” Patrick groaned as his mother approached the doorway. “Come on, ‘Trick. You haven’t been out with your friends in months. And an opportunity has literally shown up on your doorstep.”

Pete nodded in agreement. “Whatever you want, man. Let’s go grab some food and then we can go be cryptids downtown or something.”

“Haven’t you got someone else you’d rather spend your time with? You have to put up with me for like, 5 hours tonight.”

Pete shrugged. “Literally just moved here, man. You’re the only one I know. Plus, I think you’re cool. And I don’t want to go get dinner by myself.”

“You’re cooking dinner, right, Mom?” Patrick turned to face her hesitantly, knowing she probably wasn’t going to take his side here. “It’s been in the slow cooker all day. I mean, I don’t want to ruin it, you put a lot of work in…”

Patricia folded her arms and smiled at her son. “Either you go to dinner, or Pete stays here for dinner. Take your pick.”

\------

After a lot of back and forth about where to go for dinner, they ended up at Subway. Mostly because Pete had suggested about 10 different pizza places before Patrick snapped angrily about how he had to watch his calorie intake, and this seemed the best place to eat without making an absolute fool of himself in public.

He couldn’t see over the counter, but that didn’t matter. He’d been here with his Mom enough times to know his order off the top of his head, and just repeated it to the woman making his sandwich. Easy enough.

“I, I just want a meatball sub.” Pete whispered hesitantly in Patrick’s ear.

“What?” Patrick asked, turning to face him. “It’s subway, dude. Don’t tell me what you want. What am I gonna do with it?”

“Order it?”

_Weird._

So Patrick ordered the second sandwich, and after paying for both, they headed outside the restaurant to the small eating area. “Okay, dude. What the fuck?”

“What?”

“It’s _Subway._ Why the fuck did I order your sandwich for you?”

Pete hesitantly scratched the back of his neck. “Because, because I asked you to?”

“Why?” Patrick shoved the sandwich at Pete and began opening his own. “Do you have some irrational fear of subway workers?”

“Something like that.” Pete shrugged.

“Something like _what_?”

Pete glared at him, before sighing. “I’m, I’m not good with _people,_ dude.”

“You’re fine on the radio.” Patrick responded with a mouthful of sandwich.

“That’s just kinda talking to the void. You’re not really talking to people, just kinda, talking.”

“You’re fine with _me._ ” Patrick accused.

Pete shrugged at that. “You hated me from the start so I didn’t really worry about you hating me because you made it very clear that you already did. So there was only opportunities to go up from there.”

“What?” Patrick swallowed quickly. “I don’t _hate_ you, Pete.”

“You don’t now. I’d say now is more of a mild disliking. But at the beginning, you fucking hated me, man.” Pete chuckled to himself softly. “You hated my ideas, you get this annoyed look on your face every time you have to talk to me, and you ignored my emails for weeks.”

“That wasn’t me _hating_ you.” Patrick tried again. “It wasn’t your fault that I ended up on this stupid night shift. And, I dunno man, you were happy when I just wanted to be bitter.”

“You came up with three excuses to avoid me tonight.”

“I-“

“You’re easy.” Pete shrugged. “I listened to your show for ages. Even though you didn’t know me, I knew you. And then I got here, and even though you were sort-of different to how you sounded on the radio, you have the same voice. So it just sort-of felt like we’d been friends for a long time. I guess that’s why you’re different.”

“What about the station people?”

“I email them all.”

“Seriously?”

Pete sighed and smiled to himself. “We were meant to have a skype interview, but on the day I just kinda told him that I couldn’t get my microphone to work and we just did the interview through text. And that’s how I got the role.”

“Huh.”

“Radio’s cool, man. I like talking. I’m not good at it, but radio is like, a cover. So I can just sort-of talk for hours and it’s not stressful and it’s really good.”

Patrick thought about it for a moment. “That’s why you were so excited when you told me that there wasn’t anyone around to hear it.”

Pete nodded. “You use radio to talk to a lot of people. I guess I use it to talk without worrying that people are listening.”

“Huh.”

“Sorry about the sandwich thing.”

“It’s all good, dude.” Patrick reassured him. “And I don’t hate you. I promise. I know I’m, well, pretty awful sometimes but it’s not about you. I miss the old me as well, I guess. It’s lonely and hard and like, all my friends ditched me after the accident, so I just kinda expected you to ditch me too.”

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, before Pete’s face broke out in a grin. “Fuck, dude. We need therapists.”

Patrick had to laugh at that. “Yeah.”

“Wanna go for a walk?”

“Yep.”

\------

It was dark, and overcast, and kinda cold out, but the walk was actually quite nice between the two of them. Pete plodded along slowly, and Patrick tried to keep his wheels spinning at the same speed as they headed down the Chicago streets.

Patrick was quite glad his Mom made him bring a jacket now. It was still technically summer break, but it was also like 9pm and the night time chill was starting to set in.

"I guess I forgot to ask." Pete broke the silence with a small chuckle, putting his hands in his hoodie pockets. "How's the school thing going?"

Patrick groaned.

"Not good, huh?"

"I had to go back, a few days ago, to check everything out and it was so _weird_." He explained uncomfortably. "The school counsellor man was there, and he's still trying to find me a support worker, because if he can't find one then he has to do it himself. And the principal was there, and she and I used to be like, really good friends because I was always doing radio stuff and we'd meet a lot to talk about how I was fitting it around school and she'd give me days off school to go and do the radio stuff and it would all work out, but she just couldn't even look at me in the _eye_ , Pete. It was _awful_. And they wanted to check which classrooms were accessible and stuff, but then it turns out that _none_ of them are because the doors are too narrow, so, they have to redo the doors in like half the school, just for me, which sucks big time because they don't really have the money to do that and, yeah. It sucks."

"Oh, shit. Yeah, that sucks."

Patrick's chest was starting to hurt. They hadn't been walking long at all, less than 5 minutes, and yet it was already taking a toll on him. He slowed down a little, and Pete did too, and then just continued on and he hoped it would sort itself out.

"How are _you_ going to go?" Patrick asked. "If you can't order a subway, then I mean, school is..."

Pete grimaced. "Yeah. I, uh, I homeschooled after I finished middle school. I haven't actually been back to regular school for a long time. I'm hoping, I'm hoping it will be better this time. Mom, she, this was the reason we moved. She needed to go back to working and I couldn't face my old school, so, Dad relocated his job to here, and we moved. Kinda in the hopes that I'd be better here."

"Damn, dude."

"So, hopefully it's not too bad." Pete shruggled. "I just, I'll do what I used to do. Sit in the middle, to the side, so I'm not very noticable, and keep my head in my work."

"Good plan." Patrick nodded. "But, you don't wanna like, make some friends to sit with?"

"They'll be new people."

"Yeah, but everyone is to start with."

Pete sighed. "You sound like my Dad now."

"Oh, sorry."

"No, no, it's okay." Pete quickly reassured. "It's weird to talk about, I know."

"Hey Pete?"

"Yeah?"

Patrick took a sharp breath in. "Can we please just, rest for a second?"

"Oh, yeah, of course." Pete came to a stop, and they ducked into a nearby alleyway as not to block the path. "Dude, are you okay?"

Patrick couldn't feel his chest, so he didn't know exactly how fast his heart was beating, but he knew it was _way_ too fast for a leisurely stroll. His face was flushed, his hands were shaking, if an outsider was looking they'd probably guess he was running a marathon.

"Shit, dude." Pete mumbled, quickly thumbing through Patrick's backpack for his water bottle. "Here."

He couldn't form the word, but hope Pete understood his gratitude as he swallowed it down to hopefully soothe his body. It helped a little bit, but nothing helped more than the awkwardly-long time they spent in the alleyway while Patrick caught his breath.

"You, should probably see a doctor about that." Pete advised, putting the empty water bottle away. "And please don't do that to me ever again. If you're hurting, we stop. As soon as it starts, not when it gets overwhelming."

"What's rustling over there?"

"You're ignoring me." Pete looked him in the eye. "That? Is fucking terrifying, dude. And if it's that to me, I can't imagine how much it sucks for you. So we're not going to do that again. As soon as it gets painful for you, we stop. That's the rule. Okay?"

Patrick sighed. "Okay."

There it was again! Patrick tried to glance behind Pete to whatever was rustling in the trash over there, but Pete was once again demanding his attention at this moment.

"You said you had good insurance, right? Maybe you need-"

Patrick cut him off before he could even utter it. _"No_."

"Dude-"

"Nope. Not happening. Don't need one." He told him firmly. "But there's something over there, can you check?"

"It's probably a raccoon or something." Pete brushed him off. "Seriously, dude. We really weren't walking all that long. That's very concerning, and I'm seriously-"

"SHIT!"

Raccoon? Yeah, no. By the looks of things, it was a stray cat. A stray cat with black fur with patches of white that had suddenly leapt onto Patrick's lap, and sat itself down like it owned it.

Patrick froze up and quickly held his arms away from it. Not that the cat minded, it just sat there, on his legs, comfortably looking around the alleyway, then back at Patrick's face, and deeming his look of terror acceptable, back at the alleyway.

"Aww. He's kinda cute." Pete chuckled.

"It's a fucking stray cat!" Patrick whispered, trying to keep himself calm.

"Stray cats don't normally sit on your lap." Pete responded, stepping closer and holding his hand out to let the cat sniff him. "He's probably lost."

"There's no collar. I don't trust it."

"Just give him a pat, dude. Look at him. He loves you."

"He's here because I'm a fucking portable cat lounge." Patrick hissed."And I don't know about you, but _I_ don't want to get rabies."

"You're not going to get rabies."

"You don't know that!"

Pete gave him a stern glare, and Patrick sighed. He hesitantly lowered his arm and stroked the cat's back, and prayed to god it wouldn't turn around and claw him.

And it didn't. It sat comfortably in his lap, and after a few shaky strokes, it started to purr. Patrick didn't quite know what to do then, but Pete was giggling like a 4th grader, so he just kept going with it while the cat nuzzled it's face into his chest.

"Pete, we, uh, as much as this is, uh, good, we kinda need to get to work..."

Pete checked his watch, before his eyes widened. "Oh shit!"

"What the fuck are we meant to do with the cat, dude?!"

"Uh..." Pete thought about it for a moment, before he broke out into a grin. "Let's bring him."

"What?"

"There's nothing about cats in the code of conduct." He smiled. "I say we bring him. There's not a lot he can do in the studio. I reckon he'll be a great member of the team."

"You _can't_ be serious."

"Oh, I most certainly am."

Pete wouldn't let Patrick push himself back to the car after the incident before, so Patrick essentially sat as a human cat stroller while they headed to work. The cat was relatively good in the car as well, and somehow all three of them managed to make it to the station in one piece, 3 minutes before they were meant to start on air.

They'd gotten the run of things fairly down pat by now, and together, the midnight show was starting to come together. Tonight was feeling good, too. Probably because they had a third host, who was wandered around the studio for the first hour before eventually settling back down in Patrick's lap for a nap.

They told the story of finding him during one of their talking segments that night, cutting out the reasons as to why they were in the alleyway and instead focused on Patrick's intese fear of rabies and the hilarity of the situation.

"You can't see it, but he's still sleeping on Patrick's lap." Pete giggled into the audience. "Seems you're the chosen one, my dude."

Patrick laughed at that, stroking the cat's soft fur. "Maybe."

"It's only fair that you name him."

"Name him?"

"We can't keep calling him just, cat." Pete persuaded.

"All right." Patrick chuckled, looking at his lap and the creature settled there. "You're not gonna let me name him Cat?"

"Absolutely not."

"Alright. Uh..." Patrick thumbed over his little bean toes, before smiling. "He's wearing little socks."

"Little Socks?"

"Just Socks, I think." Patrick nodded, as the cat started to purr in agreement.

"Perfect." Pete grinned. "Socks, you're officially our third radio host. Mark, if you're listening, there was nothing about cats in the station code of conduct. Also, we love him."

\-------

In the morning, a station intern was going over the last night's audio footage, and found the cat segment. Laughing to himself, he decided it was good material to promote. He isolated the segment, added some visuals, and uploaded it to YouTube.

Within 2 days, it's view count read 2,385,412.


	12. It’s Just Ups and Downs

Socks seemed to take well to Patrick’s room.

The show had done so well that night. They’d been feeling good, they’d done a good segment. They’d even had a  _ caller.  _ By the time it was finished, both Pete and Patrick were still high on that radio buzz. Patrick was feeling so good, in fact, that he even let Pete inside so they could introduce Socks to his new home.

He forgot all about was his bedroom looked like until he let Pete inside. He knew that it wasn’t a  _ bad  _ room, so to speak, but the ventilator on his nightstand, the stupid bed, the medication bottles – it wasn’t exactly something he wanted Pete to see.

“Woah, dude! You have the best record collection!”

Socks stayed settled on Patrick’s lap as Patrick hesitantly glanced over at Pete, who had sat on the floor in front of his record shelf, thumbing through them. He knew that Pete had  _ seen  _ everything else, but for some reason he was now hyper focused on the music.

“Socks, my dude, you’re damn lucky to have a roommate with a music collection like this.” Pete grinned, before smiling back up at Patrick. “You gotta let me come over in daylight hours so we can play some of these!”

Socks meowed in agreement, and Patrick frowned down at his new fuzzy friend. “Uh, yeah, maybe…”

Pete’s smile faultered a little bit, but didn’t faulter too much. “So, we’re definitely gonna have to hit the pet shop soon, and we can get a few things for the studio, too!”

“The studio?”

“Well, I mean, he’s the third member of our show!” Pete laughed, gently stroking Socks’ fur. “I’m sure he wants to come back to the studio while we’re live.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Patrick nodded unsurely, letting Socks leave his lap to go and explore the room. He wandered over the bed, before eventually jumping onto the desk and settling down on the computer keyboard.

Pete smiled at the cat, before pulling himself to his feet. “I guess I’ll leave you to sleep, then. It was a really good show tonight, I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too.” Patrick agreed. “Sorry if I’m being a buzzkill now, I just- I haven’t have anyone in my room since, and I, yeah...“

“It’s all good dude. I get it. I mean, you don’t have to worry because like, I’m not an asshole about those kinds of things, but I get it. I’ll pick you two up for the show tomorrow night too?”

Patrick smiled and nodded. “A bit earlier, so we can go and get Socks a bed for the studio.”

Pete smiled in response. “Sounds awesome.”

\-----

 

“What the fuck is that?”

Patrick didn’t even look up from his computer to address his stepfather as Paul placed a sandwich down on his desk. “His name is Socks.”

“You can’t go around bringing animals into this house without telling me!” 

“It’s my house too! And my room! And Pete and I’s cat! So you don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t have!” Patrick rebutted, annoyed at the fuss that his stepfather was making over this.

“Well, then Pete’s going to have to take it.” Paul folded his arms, glaring at the small animal sleeping on Patrick’s pillow. “We can’t take on any more responsibilities at the moment.”

“He’s not  _ your  _ responsibility!” Patrick growled, finally turning around. 

“Well, he’s not going to be yours!” Paul responded. “Patrick, I’m being factual here, but you’re not going to be able to feed him, or clean the litter box, or groom him, or do any of the other important things you need to do in order to take care of a cat. If he’s living here, then Pete can’t do those things all the time. So what, you expect your Mom and me to do it?”

Patrick paused for a moment. He hadn’t considered that.

“Exactly.”

“Mom won’t mind.” He pushed.

“Your Mom already has far too much on her plate to even consider taking on a new pet.” Paul told him.

Patrick shook his head in response. “Socks isn’t trouble at all. Mom will love him!”

“Patrick, you have to consider her needs. She’s had to quit her job to care for you full-time, which is probably even more than a full time job considering you get her to pick you up at 3am, and then on top of that, she still has to be a Mom to the twins as well. She’s got a lot going on, Patrick. I’m not saying that any of it is your fault, but I am saying that you need to be thoughtful of other people and how your decisions impact them, when you’re already quite full-on.”

“I can’t control that!” Patrick snapped at him.

“I know that. But you can control how much extra work you bring into our lives through decisions like this. If you want to ignore me, you can. Your Mom loves you more than anything and if she thought this would make you happy for a minute, then she’d be all for it. But before you do, please just consider the impact this will have.”

Patrick sat silently.

“Call Pete to get the cat.”

 

—-

 

Patricia had taken the twins out to do back-to-school shopping that morning. Patrick had tried to persuade her that Paul could take them instead, but Patricia held her ground and maintained that she had hardly spent any time with the kids over their summer break, and so that led to the awkward morning at home with Paul that Patrick had enjoyed.

The sound of the garage door opening was the best sound that Patrick had heard all day.

The kids rushed in with bags full of new school supplies, and after quickly hugging their father and greeting their older brother, set themselves down at the table to decorate their new notebooks with stickers. Patricia followed afterwards with a few bags of groceries, which she set down before quickly rushing to hug her son. “Congratulations!”

“Uh... thanks?” Patrick answered uncertainly. “What, uh, did I do?”

She pulled away quickly and stared him in the eyes. “What do you mean what did you do? Patrick, baby, have you not seen?!”

“Seen what?” Even the kids were looking at him now.

“Your show did amazing last night!” Patricia beamed, pulling her phone out to show Patrick the YouTube numbers. “I’m so proud of you!”

Patrick blinked to check the numbers were real, and they were. And the segment last night was certainly the one coming from his Mom’s phone, that had those numbers. He’d done it. The midnight show, somehow, had managed to have a some-what viral video. People loved it.

Well, People loved Socks. But that wasn’t hard to do. Socks was pretty amazing on his own.

“See baby! I told you that you were going to be back at it!” Patricia was beaming with pride, and hugged her son again. “I can’t believe you hadn’t seen that! Where’s the kitty? I want to meet him!”

Paul opened his mouth to object, but Patrick took the opportunity to smile smugly at him in response. “He’s in my room. You’re gonna  _ love  _ him!”

 

——-

 

_ Hey Pete! _

_ Did you see the video? Our section was a hit last night! Congrats dude! We finally did it! It took a third radio host but I’m so glad we’re gaining traction again! One or two more of these and we’ll be back in prime time before we know it! _

_ By the way, I know emailing is still a weird way of communicating but it’s easier for me to type on my computer so I hope you don’t mind. But this is my personal email address so, definite proof that I like you if that’s what you need.  _

_ 2 weeks until school starts! Mom did all my shopping today and went through and labelled all my books and stuff and it’s all getting really real, and that’s kinda freaky. I still don’t feel ready to go back. I guess every kid doesn’t feel ready to go back to school, but it’s almost like I’m a completely different person now. I don’t feel like a school kid anymore. Hopefully the semester goes fast, or I get used to it soon enough. Apparently the school found me an aid and I’m gonna meet her for the first time next week so that’s going to be weird. But anyway, I hope your prep is going well! You’re going to be fine. And if it gets really bad, you can come find me in whatever closet I get shoved in and we can do catch up classes together. _

_ Anyway, just wanted to check you got the news! I’m so proud of us and I’m looking forward to next week! _

_ PS _

 

_ ——— _

 

“I can’t do it Travie! It hurts!”

“You’re doing fine, Patrick. Focus on your Triceps, remember? You’ve got to play to your strengths.”

Patrick was growing frustrated with physio. They’d been working on transfers for almost a month now, and Patrick was yet to make any progress. Sure, he could make a start and transfer when his Mom did all the heavy work, but he could hardly hold himself in a sitting position without assistance.

His arms gave out once again, and Travie quickly caught him before he fell backwards. Patrick let out a defeated sigh and rested his head back while Travie did up the straps on his chair to stop him from falling out.

“You’re doing the exercises at home like I told you too, right?”

“Every day.” Patrick mumbled. “I’m meant to be doing better by now, right?”

“Everyone recovers at their own pace.”

“But I’m not recovering at  _ all. _ ” 

“Now, that’s not true.” Travie had this uncanny ability to switch from being laid-back to being very stern in a split second. “You’ve come a long way since we started working together. When we started, you couldn’t even lift your arms.”

“And I still can’t without really bad pain.” Patrick muttered, folding his arms across his chest protectively in the case that Travie wanted a demonstration.

Travie sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’m just trying to figure out where we should go with you next. I’m thinking we should give transfers a rest for a little while, not forever, obviously, but there’s more things we can focus on in the meantime. What pain is bothering you most?”

“Neck.” It didn’t take Patrick more than a second.

“Really?”

The concern in Travie’s voice told Patrick that this might not have been the best thing to respond with. “Uh, yeah…”

“Burning pain?”

“It’s more achey, I guess. When it gets bad, it gets a bit like a stabbing pain and I can feel it throbbing and it’s really, just not a good time.” Patrick tried to play this down before Travie had him back in the doctor’s office. “But once I take some painkillers it generally dies down.”

“Painkillers are a bandaid solution.” Oh, how Patrick hated Travie’s stupid sayings. “We need to have a look. Let’s get you back on the bed and I’ll test some things.”

_ Ugh. _

“It’s all inflamed, Patrick.” Travie sighed. “You’re putting too much pressure on your injury while it’s still recovering.”

“Well, what am I meant to do?!” Patrick couldn’t help but feel a little more than frustrated at his physio. He’d been seeing him daily since he was released from hospital, and yet it was bad news after bad news. 

“You need more support. You need a headrest back on your chair, and to start wearing the brace again while you’re at home.”

“I’m  _ not  _ doing that.” Patrick spat, folding his arms.

“This is your body, Patrick. If you don’t take care of it, then it’s not going to be a very comfortable place to live. I understand you have reservations about other people seeing you in a vulnerable state, but if you don’t take steps now, while you’re in the comfort of your own home, then you’re going to end up in that much more vulnerable position down the line.” Travie gave Patrick a very intimidating state for a minute, before sitting back down at the computer. “I want you to have another X-ray, and I want your medications revised to see if we can get some better long-term pain management, because I don’t want you reliant on your emergency medication. Okay?”

“Fine.”

 

———-

 

Patrick might have hated the headrest on his wheelchair more than the wheels themselves, but it did provide the benefit of a good place to lean back while using his computer.

 

_ Hey Patrick, _

_ Sorry I went quiet for a few days. The video and school and everything piled up a little bit and it got a bit overwhelming but I’m okay now.  _

_ I’m so glad our video did well! I knew you could do it! I don’t think I’m ready for prime time just yet, but give me some time and I’m sure we can do it! You’re the best radio host this town has ever seen, if anyone can coach me through it, it will surely be you. And Socks.  _

_ I did my school shopping too! Mom got me to speak to the cashier, which was really hard, but I managed to do it, so I guess that’s a start to things. _

_ I’m glad you’re doing well. See you tonight. _

_ PW. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> Sorry it’s been a while and sorry this chapter is sort-of boring. I have some exciting things planned for the future though!


	13. You Can't See Through Me, So Stop Treating Me Like It

The first day of school photo was something that Mom insisted on every single year.

When Patrick was small, he hated it with a burning passion. School wasn’t his thing, and the first day back was his personal hell, and yet his mother seemed to want to celebrate such a terrible day with photos that were hung on the ‘growth’ wall. As Patrick got older, and more photos were added to the wall, and more siblings added to the photos, he understood that they were a necessary evil, and if they made his Mom happy, then it was okay.

This year, it took a lot more convincing for Patrick to be in the yearly photos. The twins were excited, all dressed in new outfits with new backpacks and ready for an exciting year in the second grade. Patrick’s year was not as exciting, and even though most years he’d been a little bit self-conscious about what he looked like on the first day back, his year he couldn’t even fathom the idea of a picture of Patrick in his chair hanging on the wall.

“I’m too old for this now.” He tried, waving his hand at the kids. “Just take a photo of those two. I’m pretty much fully grown now, there’s no point in tracking growth in the last few years of high school.”

“Patrick, you are  _ going  _ to be in this photo.” His Mom told him sternly. “I don’t care what you have to say about it. “Eli, Ella, one on either side of Patrick and I’ll take it.”

“Mom…”

“Smile!” She beamed, holding the camera up to her face.

Patrick tried to look happy for the photo, but the sound of the shutter sent a sinking feeling to his stomach. It was really happening. He was going back to school.

 

——

 

It was all so familar, and so terrifyingly awful. Paul had taken the twins this morning, to help them get set up on their first day, so Patricia could help her son. Patrick didn’t know what was worse - going into school alone, or taking his  _ mom  _ to school to help.

Thankfully, it was early. The school day was still 2 hours away from classes starting, and the halls were empty as they made their way to the office.

He passed his old locker on the way. He wondered if anyone had cleaned it out when he got injured. He wouldn’t be able to open it anymore, not only was it too high up, but there was no way his fingers would turn that little dial without twitching. Would it be another kid’s locker this year? He hoped so. It was a nice locker. Probably the only one in this corridor that didn’t have some sort of awful smell in it.

Well, maybe. Depends if anyone got his sandwich out when he was injured, or if it was still there, 5 months later.

His Mom carried his backpack - with his computer and stationery, it was far too heavy to hang on the back of his chair without offsetting the balance. He was hoping someone would let him leave his bag somewhere, maybe in a classroom or something, so he didn’t have to go around the halls with it on his lap. His ultra-light chair was a good decision when he was trying to pick one that would be as unnoticeable as possible (Quite a hard task), but it certainly wasn’t very good for carrying things.

“Stop stressing, sweetheart.” Patricia squeezed her son’s shoulder as they arrived at their destination. “You’re going to be  _ fine.  _ 3 days back and you won’t even remember being gone.”

Patrick  _ strongly  _ disagreed with that.

The night before, despite his anxiety over this situation, he had promised himself that he was going to come back strong and assertive for the new school year. His circumstances had changed, and he had as well, but that was no excuse to be pushed around by the school administration or the student body. If he couldn’t stand up to people with his legs anymore, he at least needed to be able to with his voice.

But today was quite overwhelming, and Patrick found himself sitting back and letting his Mom do the talking. He felt uncomfortable, and left out of the conversation while the adults talked above him. It wasn’t until his Mom left to go and leave some of his spare medication with the school nurse that a woman pulled a chair over and sat next to him.

“I’m Carly.” She introduced, her face oozing positivity at a rate that Patrick wasn’t ready for. “I’m your new best friend.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“I’m your aid.” She corrected with a smile. “Well, for this year, at least. But you better get to liking me, because we’re going to be spending a  _ lot  _ of time together.”

“Oh.” Patrick swallowed, staring down at his lap for a second. “So, what do you, uh,  _ do? _ ”

“I’m just here to be your hands.” She shrugged. “I’ll give you a hand with your work when you need it, and sort stuff out with your teachers if it’s not accessible. That’s about it. I can be as involved or uninvolved as you want me to. They just pay me to be here.” She laughed to herself at the last sentence, before taking a slightly more serious tone that Patrick appreciated. “Seriously. I’m just here to help, basically. We’ll be working mostly one-on-one for the first few weeks to catch you up on what you missed, and then I’ll be a little more distant as you integrate back into regular classes. Nobody has to know about me if you don’t want them to.”

“Okay, good.” He breathed a sigh of relief.

Carly laughed at that. “Figured as much. Let me get your bag and we’ll go for a walk to my office. It’s quite nice, actually. Your principal seems to really like you, kid.”

Patrick didn’t agree with that. His principal couldn’t even look him in the eyes these days. Maybe this was to do with that, some sort of subtle pity party. It wouldn’t be past her.

Carly’s office was fine. It was a relatively large room, with a big table in the centre in which Patrick assumed he’d be doing the most of his work. She explained that he didn’t exactly have a locker, and he just got to leave all his extra stuff here, which was good. 

“So the school doesn’t want you in here constantly, so you’re only hanging with me for the classes that you really need to catch up in.” She explained, grabbing a highlighter and his timetable. “So for english, music, and art, you’re just going to go to class as normal. Then we’ll just work through the rest until you’re ready to rejoin.”

“ _ Art _ ?”

She shrugged. “I do what they gave me.”

“Right.” Patrick muttered, staring down at his hands. “There’s, there’s a box of pain medication in my backpack, can I please have one?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Are you okay?”

“I will be.” Patrick mumbled.

“Okay, good.” She smiled, placing a small pill in his hand and his water bottle in the other. “Because you’re off to English in first period.”

 

——

 

_ Way to throw him into the deep end. _

He’d hid in Carly’s office until he heard the first few people start to enter the halls for the first day of classes in the school year. She had offered to let him stay until the bell rang until he actually had to make his way to English, but he also knew that that wasn’t really an option.

He had to go out and talk to people. He had to make an effort to recconnect with his old friends and catch up with the people he hadn’t seen since the accident. Part of him really didn’t want to - they’d abandoned him on his literal deathbed and he hadn’t heard from anyone since the day of the accident.

It was a weird predicament. His head was telling him to desperately go and seek out the friends he’d been longing to see again, and his heart was telling him to set them all on fire as bitter, bitter revenge.

In the end, he had to take the plunge. And besides, he couldn’t set them on fire without talking to them first. So after emptying his bag enough so that it wouldn’t pull the back of his chair over, he descended into the halls with a pounding heart and aching chest.

He started heading towards the area where he knew his friends used to congregate, and tried to distract himself with the good memories of what these people used to mean to him. Memories of sitting around at lunchtimes and laughing over bizarre things. Them coming to all of Patrick’s radio events to support him, the concerts, dinners, the sleepovers. They’d been good friends, for a really long time.

He was snapped out of his haze by a familiar face  _ barrelled  _ around the corner. He would have completely run past if Patrick didn’t put his hand out and grab his hoodie before he had a chance to escape.

“Pete?” Patrick asked, his eyes dotted with concern. “What’s, are you okay?!”

Pete was in a  _ state.  _ His eyes were red, his face was flushed, and as Patrick held his hand, he could feel how hard it was shaking. He didn’t say anything in response to Patrick’s question, but he probably didn’t need to.

“Shit, dude.” Patrick breathed. 

“I, I’m, I’m gonna, I just gotta go to the bathroom until the halls are empty.” Pete stammered, avoiding eye contact.

“No, no, they’re a bit out of the way, you’ll be late.” Patrick told him, gently. “You’re okay. You just gotta, breathe for a little bit, drink some water.”

That didn’t seem to help Pete at all. A few more people came around the corner, and when their eyes came to rest on the kid in the wheelchair and the kid having a panic attack, Pete quickly pulled his sleeve out of Patrick’s hand and continued off down the corridor.

Patrick called after him, but there was no point. He sighed softly and watch him disappear down the next corner, knowing that he’d never catch up. He hoped Pete knew where the bathrooms were, or at least found the courage to ask someone. He’d have to text him later.

He found his friends where he expected them to be, standing around, chatting. It was exactly the same as he remembered, and it felt weird. On one hand, he was glad that his accident didn’t destroy his friendship group, but at the same time, he didn’t want them to carry on the exact same without him, as if he didn’t matter. He tried not to focus on any of that. He needed to show them that he hadn’t changed, and he was still a part of this group.

_ They’re not going to want me anymore. There’s no point to this. There’s a reason that the school is trying to lock me away in Carly’s office. There’s a reason that they didn’t message me at all after the accident. This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. Oh god. _

“H-Hi, guys…” He managed nervously, forcing a smile up at the group as best he could.

“PATRICK’S BACK!”

Brendon pulled him into a hug, and Patrick tried to pretend that it was okay that his center of gravity had been thrown backward from the sudden jolt. Thankfully, Brendon eased out of his slowly, and Patrick stayed upright. He was smiled at his friend, but instead of finding the same warmness in return, he saw six  _ very  _ confused, sad, and a little bit horrified, faces

And then it hit him.  _ None  _ of these people, with the exception of Joe and Andy who weren’t here right now, knew about his injury. None of them had ever sent him a message, none of them had ever checked in. And so, he’d never had the opportunity to tell them what exactly had happened. That meant that this introduction was  _ their  _ introduction to Patrick’s new way of life.

“Holy shit, dude.” Josh mumbled.

The statement hung in the air. He waited for someone else to say something,  _ anything,  _ but of course that isn’t how it went down.

“I, uh…” Patrick fumbled, looking down at his lap and then back up at the group. “A lot’s happened, I guess…”

“Yeah.” Hayley said uncertainly. “Maybe, maybe start at the beginning?”

_ “I don’t want to”  _ was probably not an acceptable answer in this scenario, and Patrick was starting to wish he’d stayed in Carly’s office. Sure, he’d end up telling them, but he didn’t want to lecture them about his injury on his first time seeing them in many months. That was something that could wait. He wanted to catch up on  _ their  _ lives, his hadn’t been much fun at all.

“Well, I, uh, I…” He cleared his throat. “I got hit by a bus?” That was common knowledge. He paused, and in the end decided to keep it simple, for now. “And I broke my neck.”

There was more uncomfortable silence for a second, and Patrick didn’t dare look up to see the faces of pity. He’d had more than enough of that for one lifetime.

“But I’m back now.” He pushed, forcing a smile. “And I haven’t changed that much. And my life has been really boring over the last six months, so let’s not focus on me, if that’s okay? Can I be caught up on the rest of you?”

“Patrick, this is  _ big. _ ” Hayley told him.  _ Was that a quiver in her voice? _ “I think, I think we’re going to need some time to process this.”

“I’m okay, I promise.” He tried. “I’m fine. Don’t get upset or anything.”

Jesus, even his seven-year-old siblings had taken the news better than this.

When he was in the hospital, and they made him undergo a compulsory psychiatric evaluation after his injury, they’d told him about how a lot of people in his life would struggle with this news. The psychiatrist had told him a lot about how people didn’t like change, they didn’t like knowing that people they cared about had been hurt, and depending on the person, would go through as much grief and trauma as Patrick himself.

Patrick had brushed this advice off, mostly because the people around him at that time did a very good job of keeping their emotions away from him. Patricia only let herself be sad when she was at home, Paul didn’t seem to really have any opinion on it, but that might have been because he didn’t spend a lot of time at the hospital with Patrick. And the twins, well, they were still a bit too young to understand the full weight of it.

But here, in his friend group, he could see exactly what the psychiatrist had been talking about. Tyler, Dallon and Elliot couldn’t even look at him, and were instead trying to find literally anywhere else to focus their eyes. Brendon looked like he was ready to go in for another hug at any moment, which Patrick was trying to avoid, and Josh and Hayley both looked like they were about to burst into tears.

This was not what Patrick had planned.

“I knew you were out of hospital when I heard you were starting radio again, but there weren’t any updates on the air, and I...I…” Brendon stammered.

“I’m okay!” Patrick pushed again, a little bit louder this time. “I didn’t die! I’m still here! Don’t fucking  _ grieve  _ me or anything. I haven’t changed!”

Nobody seemed to want to take that on board. Patrick acknowledged that yeah, it might be some shocking news, but at least  _ pretend  _ to be fine. Or even like, half-fine. Anything but this. It was almost like he’d shown up to school as a different species or something from how everyone was acting.

“Does anyone at least have English first up?” He added, hopefully to change the subject. “I think I’m in 501 again this year. Anyone else?”

A few of them murmured agreements, and Patrick sighed internally. He was wishing a memo went out or something before he came back. He knew that one went around to all the teachers, because of the difference in schoolwork and stuff, but he really wished one went out to the students as well. That might have made this a little less terrible. And it would certainly would, well, decrease the number of stares he was getting from passers-by.

Patrick was so grateful for the bell when it finally rang through the halls. He double-checked he still had his bag, and was about to head off to his class, when someone grabbed him.

Now  _ this  _ was the thing that he certainly didn’t miss about rehab. At least once he’d gotten home, he didn’t need to worry about anyone grabbing the handles of his chair without his consent. It wasn’t a hard concept to grasp, it’s not nice to be controlled by someone else, especially without warning, and even more so when you can’t see your face.

Patrick tried to stay calm. It wasn’t a situation he liked to be in. The problem with this situation was that the other person  _ always  _ thought they were doing a good thing to help him out. Sure, it might take Patrick a little bit longer to get from point A to point B using his chair, but at least he was doing in independently and had full control of his body.

“W-Who’s that?” He asked, feeling the rims roll underneath his fingertips.

“It’s just me.” Brendon replied, pride in his voice. Patrick hesitated on whether or not to tell him to stop, but considering that the room really wasn’t very far away, he figured it might be easier to just say so at the destination.

More stares came when he got to the room, from kids who used to worship the ground that he walked on. His radio show used to mean that he was a living celebrity around these halls - after all, prime time isn’t usually given to schoolkids. But they certainly weren’t seeing that when they were looking at Patrick right now. Patrick didn’t even want to know what they were thinking. It would probably be easier that way.

“There we go.” Brendon said, bringing Patrick’s chair to a hault.

“Thanks, B. But, uh, please don’t touch my chair without asking first.” He paused. “Actually, just, please don’t touch it unless I ask. Is that okay?”

Hayley frowned. “He’s just helping, Patrick.”

“I know, I know.” He tried. “And I’m really grateful for that, but, it’s really terrifying, you know? Like, what if I just like, picked you up and carried you somewhere when you’re capable of doing it yourself? It’s kinda scary, and considering that I don’t actually know who’s touching me, then, yeah. Please don’t.”

“Sorry…”

“No, no, it’s okay!” He tried. “Thank you, though. I’ll, I’ll be open when I need help, but, unless I ask, then I can manage.”

The class was starting to head in for the first lesson of the school year when Patrick was suddenly joined by the same familiar face that Patrick had seen earlier that day run past him. 

“Pete?” Patrick quickly made his way over to him. “Are you okay?”

Pete’s face wasn’t any better than last time, but at least it wasn’t worse. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, and looked down at his feet. “A-Am I late?”

“No, you’re just on time.” Patrick assured him. “Come on, at least we have this class together. You’ll be fine.”

Pete didn’t quite believe him, but shuffled in and sat next to him at a desk.

Despite the fact that Patrick felt terrible that Pete wasn’t doing very well on his first day in quite some time, he was actually quite relieved to have his coworker back. At least Pete knew how to not treat him like he was made of glass, and was willing to talk to him as an actual human being, rather than a living pity party.

He trusted Pete to get the computer out of his bag and help him with the fiddly on-switch, and once that was done, to get the bottle of painkillers as well. Brendon was well-intentioned, but also very clearly uncomfortable. And Tyler and Hayley were a bit too far away to ask.

“I-I need to go  _ home. _ ” Pete managed a forced whisper into Patrick’s ear.

“No, no, you’re doing really, really well.” Patrick assured him. “I promise you, it doesn’t good right now, but you didn’t even think you’d be able to make it this far. You’re doing great. I’ve got your back.”

“Who’s this?” Brendon asked with a smile, leaning over to look at Pete.

“This is my new radio partner. He’s new to town.” Patrick introduced, suddenly suprised by Pete grabbing his hand under the desks. “Pete.”

“Brendon.” Brendon introduced.

Patrick glanced at his friend, and gently squeezed his hand comfortingly.

“N-Nice to meet you.” Pete managed to stammer quietly, and Patrick couldn’t have been prouder.

 

\--

 

It had been a long day. Patrick’s shoulders hadn’t been this sore in months. His backpack wasn’t particularly heavy, but it still added weight to his chair that he wasn’t used to pulling around with him. His lungs ached, especially since music class was in a seperate building, and he had to get there relatively quickly. His friends had been unintentional assholes, his foot had twisted on his footplate in a weird position and he couldn’t get it back, and worse, his day was far from over. Physio now, then home for dinner and a bit of homework from Carly, and then back to the station for the midnight show.

_ Ugh. _

He supposed it wasn’t the worst thing. Pete had managed through english, but during his lunchbreak he got a text from his coworker letting him know that he’d gone home after the day had been a little bit much. It worried Patrick a little, but he didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it.

“Painkillers.” He begged Travie, once he got to physio. “I used all mine today. Do you have extras?”

“I’m a physio, not a pharmacist.” He responded, before frowning. “Bad pain day?”

“The  _ worst. _ ” Patrick groaned as he attempted to transfer to the physio bench, before falling flat.

Travie gently helped him into the intended positon and tried to start the usual exercises. Starting at his toes was fine, and Patrick didn’t mind, but when it got to his arms, Patrick tried to draw a line.

“A-AH! Stop! Stop!”

Travie paused. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Patrick mumbled, knowing that wasn’t the right answer. “Not there.  _ Please. _ ”

“You certainly over-exerted yourself today.” Travie told him firmly. “You can’t keep this up. You’re going to destroy your joints.”

“I didn’t! I just, went to class!”

“You know what i’m going to tell you that you need to do.”

“I know.” Patrick muttered. “And I’m going to continue ignoring you.”

Travie sighed. “That’s fine. But then you’re going to have to continue dealing with this, because I’m not letting you out of here with your muscles as stiff as this. We’re using the TENS today too.”

Patrick groaned again, but didn’t argue.

He hoped Pete was okay.


	14. Thank God You Can Drive

Patrick had been more than a little bit worried about his new friend. He sent a few text messages, and after getting basic responses, decided to do something he thought he’d never do again.

**_Patrick:_ ** _ Do you want to come over for a while before work? Mom made some extra dinner _

And so Pete was in his house, again. It was nowhere near as stressful as the first time, considering that this time, Patrick wasn’t really worrying about himself for a change.

They were sitting in Patrick’s room, Pete thumbing through the records on the floor while Socks pestered him for attention and cuddles. Patrick didn’t know how to start a conversation about what had happened at school that day - the Pete who was currently making piles of records on his floor was a completely different individual to the Pete he’d seen sprinting down the halls earlier.

“That one, huh?” He murmured to Socks, who had tried to knead himself a bed on a certain pile. “Alright. I’ll put that one on.”

“Long day, huh?” Patrick asked, trying to seem absentminded as he rested his arm on his desk.

Pete sighed softly. “Yeah. How did you go?”

“Well, I, I thought that I didn’t really want to see my friends because they didn’t give a shit about me since I had the accident, but then it turns out that they never actually found out what happened, so now they’re just tiptoeing around me and it’s awful.”

Pete wrinkled his nose up. “That sucks.”

“I was hoping to like, at least talk to them about  _ anything  _ that’s happened over the last few months, but apparently I’m invisible now, so, that’s fun.” Patrick muttered sarcastically. “Whatever. I didn’t want to see them again anyway. They  _ never  _ visited, never called, or anything.”

“Assholes.”

“Yeah.” Patrick brushed it off. “What about you? Did you get to talk to anyone, at least?”

“Do you count as someone I talked to?” Pete asked, glancing up at Patrick from his spot on the floor.

“No.”

“Then nope.” Was the response as he turned away to hide his face. “But it’s okay. I made it to the actual building today. I… that’s good enough for today.”

“Okay.” Patrick said uncertainly. “Just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Pete nodded to the beat of the song. “We don’t have to talk about school on the radio, right?”’

“Not really.” Patrick shrugged. “I used to only mention it if there was some kind of big event or drama or something that needed to be touched on. It’s not really key programming, considering the majority of our listeners aren’t school students. Even less so at midnight, I guess.”

“Okay, that’s good.”

Patrick reached for his bottle of pain medication, and frowned at the dismal amount left remaining in the bottle. He understood, it had been a really long day at school and his pain levels were through the roof, but didn’t mean he wanted them to run out.

“Can you give me a hand with something?” He asked Pete mindlessly, possibly the very best idea he’d ever had coming to his head.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

He led Pete out to the kitchen and pointed to the specific cabinet, about a foot out of his reach. “There should be a red basket on the top shelf.”

“What’s in it?” Pete asked as he brought it down.

“My prescriptions.” He mumbled. “There should be one in there for my oxycodone. I’m nearly out. Can we drop by the pharmacy on the way to work?”

“Sure.” Pete responded, passing the piece of paper to his friend. “But you don’t have any repeats.”

“What?”

“Repeats.” Pete explained slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You need to go back to the doctor to get another script. They’re not allowed to give you more without it.”

Patrick frowned. “But, I’m, I’m not going back to my doctor for a few weeks…”

Pete shrugged uncomfortably. “We might be able to find some over the counter stuff to tide you over until the next visit?”

Patrick sighed, and shoved the paper into his pocket. “I… I have a pain problem, and, with school and stuff going back, it’s just been getting worse and I don’t know, Pete… I need the strong stuff just to make it through the day, pretty much.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, dude.”

“They won’t say no to the kid in the wheelchair.” Patrick muttered, turning to leave the kitchen. “I’ll get some.”

 

———

 

Patrick could tell that Pete wasn’t totally on board with his plan of charge-into-the-pharmacy-and-beg-for-a-refill, but there wasn't much he could do about that. Patrick needed his medication, and Pete seemed to understand that at least. So they pulled into the 24 hour pharmacy (Definitely not the one he visited with his mother - one a little more out of the way that they hadn’t been to before), and Pete parked the car.

Since Pete had started becoming Patrick’s main mode of transportation to and from the station at night, he’d invested in an extra seatbelt so Patrick didn’t have to lie with his face in the dash like the first time he’d taken a ride home. It made the process a lot nicer, and Pete had learned very quickly how to help Patrick achieve a good transfer.

Patrick wouldn’t mention it, but he was so grateful to have a friend who was willing to learn how to help him in the right way from time to time. His other friends would probably just assume they knew the right way to do it and ignore Patrick’s instructions. Pete wasn’t like that. He was a good type of different. There probably weren’t a lot like him. Patrick did make a big deal of thanking him every time, but it came nowhere close to how grateful he felt on the inside.

“I need to look bad.” Patrick said, offering Pete an unsure smile once he was in the seat of his chair. “They need to think I’m desperate or they’re not going to help me.”

Pete frowned. “Dude…”

“You need to understand how bad I need this stuff, Pete.” Patrick tried to persuade. “I can’t function without it! No school, no work, I can’t even get out of bed. It’s all nerve pain, it affects  _ everything.  _ I get really bad shoulder pain, because that’s about where the break line was, so without my medication I can’t even push myself. Not having it is  _ worse  _ than a death sentence.”

“It’s a bit unethical…”

“I’m not trying to break any laws, or anything.” Patrick continued desperately. “I just want a refill so I can go to work and not be blinded by pain the entire time.”

Pete gave in.

With a few of the straps left undone so his torso was almost falling, his right foot pointing inwards on his footplate, and arms struggling to keep pushing forward from the different angle, Patrick entered. He left Pete in the multivitamins aisle to keep him occupied, and headed down to the back counter.

Patrick would have thought that they would make a  _ pharmacy  _ counter accessible, but the counter at this place was very clearly made for people who were able to stand. After fumbling through his pockets for the prescription and his wallet, he weakly pushed them onto the counter, wincing at the pain that ripped through his shoulders from the task. “J-Just a refill, please.”

“Oh, hello!” The man at the counter leaned over to get a view of him, and Patrick tried to look up, before his muscles screamed in protest and he had to look back at the counter shelves of jellybeans instead. “Oh, hang on, let me come around.”

Patrick held his breath. The dude would  _ have  _ to see how much pain he was in right now and ignore the ‘no repeats’ thing on the paper. It seemed likely, he pulled a chair over and sat down next to Patrick, who was trying to regulate his breathing. This position wasn’t doing anything for his lungs, and he was starting to fully understand why the doctors were so firm on him using the various straps.

“Just a re, refill.” Patrick tried again.

The pharmacist hummed softly, and read over the paper. “I’m sorry buddy, there’s no refills left for this one.”

Patrick tried to pretend that this was the first time he’d heard that news. His radio time had actually been surprisingly good for his acting skills.

“You’ll have to go back to your doctor for another refill.” He responded, looking quite affected by the sight in front of him. “But we can look at some alternatives. But before that, is it okay if I ask some questions?”

Patrick frowned. “Please, I just, I  _ need  _ a refill.”

“I know.” The pharmacist agreed. “But this is a medication that’s actually on our watch list. There’s no exceptions we can make for this one, I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been prescribed it before…” Patrick tried, pausing to catch his breath. “ _ Please.  _ It’s for my nerve pain. I can’t go to work tonight without it…”

“For one, I don’t think you should be working tonight.” He told Patrick sternly, before looking over him and taking a deep breath. “Two, you’re not sitting right, and that’s probably contributing. Can I help you into a posture that might make it better?”

Patrick hated the thought of someone else touching him, but this guy was a least a trained professional. And the thought of sitting in this terrible position for any longer was probably going to render him useless for the rest of the night, so reluctantly, he agreed. “Please, please be gentle…”

“Of course.” He nodded, pushing Patrick’s shoulder back and doing up the extra straps to keep him upright.

“What level spinal injury?”

“C-7”

He hummed softly, seeming more concerned as the conversation went on. Patrick hoped he was starting to consider giving him his pills, but was at least relieved to be back in his regular position.

“How’d you get here?”

“My colleague drove.” Patrick mumbled. “He’s somewhere in here.”

“And he helped you transfer?”

“I’m trying to practice doing it on my own…” Patrick lied, looking away and trying to garner sympathy. He was surely getting closer.

“That’s good for practice.” He offered Patrick a smile. “But if you know that you’re not right, make sure to ask for help. Let me go look you up in the system and I’ll see what I can find for you.”

As he walked away, Patrick grinned.  _ This was it. Painkiller time. He’s gonna get me another bottle, finally.  _

When the pharmacist came back around the corner holding several boxes, instead of the usual white bottle, Patrick sighed softly and looked down at his lap. So close.

“Alrighty.” The pharmacist breathed, sitting down in front of Patrick with a smile. “So, these are probably your best options. This one is probably the best, it’s not your other stuff, but it’s the strongest I can sell to you over the counter. It’s expensive though, and I can knock the price off a little, but not very much considering it’s a name brand. This one here is cheaper, but it’s not going to do as much for you as the other one.”

Patrick chewed his lip.  “Can I claim them on my insurance?”

“Not over the counter products, no…” The pharmacist said uncertainly. “Is that something you need?”

“My Mom had to quit her job to care for me, and I’m still doing radio, but I mean, it doesn’t cover all my costs and I… insurance is kinda the only thing keeping me on my medication right now…” Patrick lied, pulling it off remarkably well.

Well, it was a half-truth. He just left out the part about Paul being one of the most well-known lawyers on this side of the state.

The pharmacist sighed softly, leaning back in his chair to look at his patient. Patrick was about to abandon his mission and go find Pete, went something clicked.

“Wait, did you say radio?”

“I, uh, yeah…” Patrick mumbled. “I used to be prime time but now I’m just doing the midnight show because the station didn’t keep my contract after the accident.”

“Oh my god.  _ You’re  _ Patrick Stump.”

Patrick was lucky for radio. People who were famous actors or musicians constantly got recognised when they were walking down the street. They were instantly recognisable, their faces plastered all over screens and ads and billboards and all sorts of things.

Being a famous radio host had none of those downsides. Occasionally, people from school would approach him, but that was a weird environment where teachers would introduce him. He enjoyed the freedom to walk around town without being stopped by strangers. It was only in moments like this and radio community events where he’d actually meet his fans.

“You used to listen to my show?” Patrick managed a weak smile.

“Still do.” The pharmacist grinned. “It’s on late, but when the rest of us are working the midnight shift around here, it’s great to put on.”

_ We have a listener. _

“O-Oh…” Patrick tried to come up with a response. “Thanks…?”

With a smile still on his face, the pharmacist got up, and disappeared behind the counter. He returned a few minutes later with the bottle that Patrick had come for, and Patrick felt relief wash over him. He had his medication again. Everything was okay.

“Now, this is illegal.” The pharmacist told him. “So this is only going to happen once. You’re not allowed to give these to anyone else, but I don’t think you’re going to. The script you gave me is only two weeks old, and this is a large pack, which tells me you’re taking a lot more of these than you’re meant to, aren’t you?”

Patrick looked down guiltily. “I, what else am I meant to do when the pain gets bad? I don’t want to have to give up halfway through the school day to go to the hospital for better medication…”

“I understand.” He nodded. “So I’m giving you these other ones too. You can take them together, but only the standard dose. If you take too much of either of them, you’re going to have some nasty side-effects. Okay?”

Patrick nodded.

“Good. But I want you back seeing your doctor if your pain levels are that bad. Painkillers aren’t going to fix it. You’re going to need a lot more than drugs to do that. And I’m not letting you have any more than this. If you come back without a script again, I’m going to have to report it.”

“I understand.” Patrick nodded, tucking the packaging next to his leg.

“Good.” The pharmacist smiled. “Now, I can’t charge you for the oxycodone because it’s not a legal purchase, but the other one I can cover under the community care fund. Just make sure you’re seeing your doctor, and taking care of yourself, okay?”

Patrick couldn’t help his grin. “I will. Thank you.”

He found Pete trying on sunglasses, and he seemed relieved to see his radio partner. “Did you get them?”

“Yep. And some extra ones, too. Let’s head off.”

Pete put the sunglasses away and they started heading out. “That’s cool. You’ll be good for a while now?”

“Uh huh. He didn’t even charge me. It took some convincing, but get this, he listens to our radio show! He was being really strong but once he found out who I was, he snuck me a pack and even a pack of extras that I can take as well, so tomorrow should be better.”

“Oh, nice.” Pete mumbled, half-heartedly.

Patrick frowned. “You don’t think badly of me for this, right? I’m just, I’m just trying to live my life.”

“Have you, uh…” Pete hesitantly scratched the back of his neck. “Have you considered you might have a painkiller problem?”

“ _ What? _ ”

“I heard the conversation, dude. That script was two weeks old, and the packs of that stuff are huge. You’re only meant to take them in emergencies, I thought?”

“I  _ don’t _ have a painkiller problem!” Patrick snapped, far more aggressively than he intended. “Shit, dude. Sorry. I don’t have an issue with the drugs. I have an issue with  _ pain. _ And with the other ones, I should be able to back off the stronger ones a little bit. I’m okay.”

“Okay.” Pete nodded. “I trust you. I just want you to be aware. I’ve seen people go through opioid addiction and it’s really bad. You’re not there yet, but please be mindful of it.”

Patrick nodded, and put an end to the conversation.

 

——

 

Even with the new painkillers, and the confidence that he had a friend at the pharmacy who was willing to help him, the pain was still building in his shoulders and by day 3 of his  _ school-physio-home-work-sleep _ schedule, he’d worn himself out.

The twins were very upset that Patrick got to have a day off school when it wasn’t a weekend  _ or  _ a holiday, but Patricia put an end to their whining and Patrick spent the day in bed, resting his joints and watching a few videos that Carly had sent him as homework for today.

The day was going fine, until Patricia was tidying his bedroom and found a suspiciously full bottle of medication in Patrick’s backpack.

“Sweetheart, where did this come from?”

“Oh, Pete and I went to get that the other night before work.” Patrick explained briefly, wincing when he tried to turn his neck to face her.

“Oh. Okay, that’s alright. I could have sworn there weren’t repeats of this one.”

Patrick blinked. “Uh, I guess there was.”

She brushed it off with a smile, and sat next to her son and combed her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry about today, sweetheart. I know you wanted to go.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” Patrick mumbled. “Carly will catch me up. And my old friends aren’t being great about everything, so I don’t mind.”

She frowned at that. “Is there anything you want me to do?”

“No. There’s not really anything you can do. They’re just assholes. Brendon keeps trying to push me without letting me know, and like half of them are avoiding me. They’re not worth it. I’ve been hanging out with Pete. He’s better. More understanding.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm. He talks to me like a person. I don’t get that from a lot of people. Even some of the teachers seem to think I lost my brain as well as my legs.”

Patricia sighed. “I’m sorry, baby. The world is hard to change.”

“It’s okay.” Patrick repeated, taking a deep breath to try and manage the bolt of pain that tore through his right shoulder. “I-I’m just, I need to sort out the physical stuff first. People can come later.”

She nodded understandingly, before pausing. “Honey, I know that you don’t want to hear this, but I think it’s time that we start looking into an electric wheelchair.”

“ _ No. _ ”

“Hear me out.” She sighed, expecting that reaction. “This isn’t working for you, sweetheart. You’re taking it easy at school, you’re not even in full classes yet, and it’s destroying you. The doctors told you from the start-“

“The doctors said that I would be able to learn a manual chair with physio!”

“They said that, in addition to using an electric chair for daily use and a manual could be used for home or short outings.”

Patrick scowled in protest.

“We got you the lightest chair on the market, sweetheart. We did everything we could to make it what you wanted it to be, but it’s not working. Surely this pain can’t be worth it, right?”

He stayed silent.

“It’s just to help you. Nobody is judging you for using what you need.” She sighed. “Look, I’ve made a doctor’s appointment for next week, and we’ll talk it over with them then. Would you like me to make you some cocoa?”

Patrick couldn’t say no to that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!  
> It’s been a while!! Thank you for all your amazing love on the past few chapters!!! I can’t express how much it means to me, y’all are amazing and awesome and I love you <3.  
> I hope you liked the chapter! Be on the lookout for lots more updates as we come into NaNoWriMo, I’m really excited to finally give this fic a bit more time and dedication.  
> Thank you again!!! <3


	15. How did it end up like this?

Patrick had only been back at school for 3 days, and he’d done enough damage to his shoulders to warrant an entire week off.

His shoulders had been sore after a big day before, but this wasn’t just soreness. This appeared to be an actual stress injury, and it was so bad that Travie had pulled the plug on physio until the inflammation went down.  So now he was just sitting around at home, taking his medication in the hope that it would help, and waiting.

It had finally reached the weekend, and, upon Patricia announcing that she’d had enough of her eldest being ‘antisocial’, he was now lying on the couch in the living room instead of in his bed. He’d protested a little at the beginning, but now that he was out here, he didn’t mind. He’d spent the last week pretty much staring at the same four walls, considering that his Mom refused to let him have a TV in his room.

There was a TV out here, and considerably more natural light. Sure, he was watching the cartoons that his siblings had put on before they’d run off to cause more mischief, but it was a welcome change of scenery. 

“Paaaatrick?” Eli entered the room slowly, poking his head over the back of the couch. “Can we use your wheelchair for our game while you’re not using it?”

“What? No. Of course not.” Patrick told him sternly. “You know the rules.”

“But you’re not even  _ using  _ it!” He whined, coming around to sit on the edge of the couch. “And we won’t  _ break  _ it!”

“Use your Dad’s office chair if you want, but mine isn’t for play.”

Eli pouted. “You never want to have fun anymore.”

“I have fun, Eli, I just can’t play in the way that you want me to. I know, it sucks, I’m sorry.”

“No, you just don’t want to play  _ ever _ .” He folded his arms over his chest. “Or talk to me, or do anything. You just care about Socks and the radio and that’s  _ it _ .”

Patrick frowned. He hadn’t been expecting anything like this. Sure, he wasn’t able to be around for the kids as much as he had been before, but he hadn’t been the greatest playmate before the accident either. They seemed fine, really. They always had each other, and Mom was around a lot more these days anyway. 

“Buddy, I still  _ love  _ you, yeah?” Patrick tried to sit up a little more, and winced at the pain. “I’ll play with you, but it’s got to be a game that I can play, okay?”

“You only want to play because I’m  _ upset. _ ” He accused. 

“That’s not true. Ask Mom.” Patrick responded. “What do you want to play?”

Eli frowned, but thought about it for a minute. “Monopoly?”

Patrick groaned internally. There went his Saturday. But then again, what else was he going to do? Lie here and watch cartoons until his Mom decided he’d been social enough and let him go back to bed?

“I can play that but we have to play at the table.” Patrick told his brother unsurely. And you need to go and ask Mom if she can help me up, but then we can play. You’ll have to move my piece for me, can you do that?”

Patrick breathed a sigh of relief as his brother relaxed and nodded. “Can you please pass me that little container on the table though? The medicine.”

Eli handed the bottle over, and pondered the thought of it. “Your medicine must be yummier than my medicine.”

Patrick poured two pills into his hand. “Why do you think that?”

“You eat it  _ all _ the time.”

“Not  _ really _ …”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, that’s just because I need it.” Patrick ended that conversation there. “Are you going to go and get Mom so we can play monopoly?”

“Yeah!”

 

———

 

The game was fun, Patrick had to admit. He wasn’t expecting it to be as fun as it was, but it turned out okay. Both of his younger siblings had gotten involved, and after asking his Mom to help him with the paper money, she had agreed to play as well. Paul had decided to take advantage of the empty TV room, but Patrick figured it was best that way.

They ended up playing monopoly junior, in order to have a relatively quick game, but the time flew by even faster. Patrick had forgotten how much fun little kids could be. Sure, they were pains in the asses most of the time, and they had pretty much no filter, but they could also be pretty cool if you spoke to them like people.

Eli wanted a second game, but the pain of being back in his chair had rendered Patrick not-much-fun for the rest of the afternoon, and he returned to the comfort of his bedroom with his cat for company. His Mom offered the TV again, but he was tired now, more than anything, and took some painkillers to hopefully let him have a nice mid-afternoon nap.

He was almost asleep when there was a knock at the door and Paul poked his head in. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“What?”

He hadn’t seen Pete in a few days. As much as he was desperate to get back to work and the station, Travie had handed the medical certificates straight to his mother and told him that he was on  _ best rest and nothing else, and no exceptions. _ So reluctantly, he had sent Pete a brief message that basically said  _ bad shoulders, can’t work,  _ and had been listening to his own show instead.

Pete was a good host on his own, Patrick had realised after the first shows. He could probably run the show on his own if he wanted to, but Patrick was glad that he didn’t. Their show was becoming more popular, and apparently the listener count for their show was even outnumbering the show before them, which was an incredibly difficult thing for any radio team to do. Mark had awarded them with new headphones in their studio, and had promised to upgrade the rest of the electronics in the near future,

But his radio host was here now, on a quiet Saturday afternoon, while Patrick was lying in bed. Even a month ago, Patrick would have been horrified at the thought of this situation, but today, he couldn’t fight the smile appearing on his lips. “Pete!”

Pete smiled in reply. “Thought I’d drop by. I’ve been missing you around the station.”

“Careful with him.” Paul told Pete sternly. “He’s on bed rest. If you’re looking for adventure, it’s not here.”

“I can  _ hear  _ you, you know?!” Patrick snapped from the bed.

Paul shrugged and left the room, closing the door behind them. For that, at least, Patrick was thankful.

“What an asshole.” Pete mumbled, wandering in and placing his bag down on the desk.

“Uh huh.” Patrick agreed. “Um… I guess… you can sit… well, you can have my wheelchair if you want. It’s over by the wall. Or if that’s a bit weird, there’s room beside me over here.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

When Patrick had first seen his bed in the new house, he figured it was the end of ever sharing a bed again. But today, there were two in the bed, and Patrick was suprisingly comfortable with that.

“How’s school been?” He asked, leaning over and resting his head on Pete’s shoulder.

“I… haven’t been.”

“No?”

“I went for the next two days but I didn’t make it though the day. Mom had to come and get me, which is probably the most embarrassing thing ever, but it’s okay. I took a few days off too. I’m going to see a therapist again, starting next week, so that should help.”

“That’s good!” Patrick said encouragingly. “I should be back to take care of you soon, don’t worry too much.”

Pete laughed. “Okay, I’m glad. What have you managed to do to yourself?”

He sighed softly. “I’ve just inflamed all my shoulder muscles up from pushing myself around school. My doctor is trying to work out whether its just a spinal injury thing, or if there’s a complicating factor, or something. I had X-rays on Friday and we’re waiting to get them back.”

“Huh.”

“It sucks though, I can tell you that. There is  _ nothing  _ worse than bed rest.”

“Maybe I’ll just have to come over more often to keep you company.” Pete smiled.

“I’d like that.” Patrick blushed sheepishly. “But why are you here? You didn’t text or anything, and it’s not a work day. You just missed me all that much?”

“Well, I mean, yeah. And Socks too.”

Patrick laughed. “Yeah, that’s understandable.”

“He’s pretty amazing.”

“Yeah, he is.”

Socks purred in agreement, wandering over and laying down for a nap on Patrick’s chest. Not that Patrick minded, of course. The company was nice.

“I can’t wait to get back to the station.”

Pete nodded in agreement. “It’s lonely without you. The new headphones are really nice though, you’re gonna like them. The whole studio is going to be so much better once Mark does it up. It’s really bad that he didn’t renovate it with the rest of them, but I’m glad he’s finally doing it.”

“I’m kinda glad that he didn’t do it with the rest of them. He put standing desks in all the other studios, and that would have put me out of a job.” Patrick paused for a minute. “I guess I’m really, really lucky with my choice of career, huh?”

Pete considered. “Actually, yeah.”

“I didn’t stay in rehab long.” He began. “I ended up coming home early because I was in that weird age range where I was too old to have Mom stay there with me but not old enough to cope very well on my own. But while I was there, there were a bunch of other people there with spinal injuries too. I had to talk to a lot of them because we had ‘social’ groups and stuff together, and they had to completely find new jobs and stuff. Like, there was this one kid, who was kinda my age, and he was halfway through his mechanic traineeship, before he broke his neck. And his injury was worse than mine, so most of his time with the therapist people was trying to find him a new career. I mean, I’m lucky that my injury wasn’t worse, but I’m really lucky that I picked radio. You don’t need arms or legs or anything to do radio, really. Just a voice and a microphone.”

“Mmm.”

Patrick breathed a sigh and snuggled his face into Pete’s sweater. “I might be alone forever, but at  _ least  _ I’ve got radio.”

“Aww.” Patrick felt a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not alone, Patrick.”

“Mmm.” He responded sleepily. “You can cuddle but you need to give me my painkillers first.”

“You’re ready for a nap, aren’t you?”

“Uh huh. It’s been a big day of hurting and I think it’s time to  _ sleep. _ ”

He paused a minute, before lifting his face to look at his coworker. Well, that wasn’t a good word for him.  _ Very very good friend Pete. _ “Do you wanna stay for a nap too?”

“You want to nap together?”

“I can’t do anything else right now, but I don’t want you to leave.”

Pete’s face softened, and then he smiled, pulling the blanket over the two of them. “That’s okay. I can stay. We can nap together.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Pete assured, gently running his fingertips through Patrick’s hair.

 

\---------------

 

Pete came over most days after that, while Patrick still wasn’t back at school, and his pain hadn’t gotten any better. Sometimes Pete would try to go to school, and most days he’d come home early and visit Patrick just after lunchtime.

Sure, Patrick was concerned that his friend wasn’t making it thorugh a schoolday, but he was also so grateful for the visits. He couldn’t do much, but that didn’t matter to Pete. Pete came to see Patrick, to talk to him, to spend time with him without the expectations. Patrick adored him for it.

He missed radio, sure, but he didn’t really need it in the same way that he did before. Radio was the time that he got to spend with his best friends, but this, well, this was practically the same thing. They could talk about whatever they wanted, and didn’t have to worry about station conduct. They didn’t have to go on-and-off the air, they just got to do whatever they wanted.

Was this what friendship was supposed to be like? Patrick had friends before the accident, sure, but they’d never been what Pete was. Pete could care less about what he looked like, how much of his body he could move, what he did, how many people knew who he was, and how many radio awards he’d won. Pete liked Patrick for himself, and it was so freeing and lovely.

They spent a lot of time together, and Patrick was pleased to see that it seemed to be helping Pete as well. He was able to talk to Patrick’s Mom pretty much freely now, and the twins, too. Paul was still a work in progress, but he was a work in progress for everyone.

Patrick was still on bed rest. He still wasn’t allowed to push himself around, or do pretty much anything, but he was probably the most content he’d been since the accident. 

In fact, Patrick wasn’t suprised when they kissed for the first time a week later.

When he finally gave in and suffered through the bedrest period, his arms got better, and after his temporary vacation, he was back at the Radio station. Sure, school too, but that didn’t matter as much. HIs friends were still being weird, and he spent most of his time in Carly’s office, so it wasn’t all that important.

Radio, though. Being back on the air was an absolute blessing.

Pete had been right, the new headphones in the studio were awesome. The whole place felt better now, more like home, if that made sense. Patrick didn’t know how to describe it. It had the right “vibe” was the closest he could get, but no matter what it was, it was a good thing.

Despite his pain improving, though, it hadn’t gone away, and Patrick was still very reliant on his drugs to help him get through his shifts. Pete was quite weird about it, and that was the one thing about Pete that still got on Patrick’s nerves. He’d explained it, in many different ways. He needed it to function, to keep his body functioning. To help him sleep. In the same way that Pete drank coffee every time they started their shift to keep him alert, Patrick needed his drugs in the same way.

When Pete had been vistiting Patrick at home, Patrick had made an effort to avoid taking the medicine in front of him. It was a bit hard to wait for him to go and use the bathroom, but after a while, he’d figured out he could send Pete to the kitchen to get them some water, or snacks, and he’d be none the wiser.

It was harder when they were on the radio. Because of the stupid doors that he couldn’t open on his own, he needed Pete to open them, it ruled out any possibility of quietly sneaking outside. He’d settled for taking one before the show started, once when they were on their break, and once once he’d gotten home, but it was always a struggle.

Tonight was worst of all. Perhaps it was because he’d been back at school for another two days, although he had been asking his friends to push him when his classes were especially far apart. But it didn’t really matter where it came from, all that mattered was that it was really, really bad. 

They were only 20 minutes in when Patrick pulled the bottle of pills out of his bag and attempted to pour some into his hand. Pete noticed him struggling, and leaned over to help, before frowning.

“Dude, you just took these.”

“No, I took the other ones.” Patrick lied, not letting go of the bottle when Pete gently tried to take it. “I’ve been reducing them, like you wanted. But it’s  _ bad  _ tonight, Pete.”

“Should you be here then?” Pete sounded concerned. “I can take you home. Take the break early and put a mix on. You really don’t need to be missing more school, dude.”

“That’s easy for  _ you  _ to say.” Patrick muttered. “I’m _ fine.  _ Well, I will be. I just need to take these.”

“Okay. Here, just, let me help.” Pete gently took the bottle, and Patrick let him this time. He pulled out a single pill, and placed it in the middle of Patrick’s palm. “There.”

“Two.”

“What?”

“I need two.”

Pete frowned, and reluctantly handed over another one. “That’s it for tonight though, right?”

“Yeah.” Patrick mumbled, tossing the drugs into the back of his throat, and taking the bottle back. “Thanks.”

“Anytime. Hey, we’re on in 10 seconds.”

The show went back to normal, after that. Patrick relaxed a little when he felt the medicine kick in, but he’d only had two. Two wasn’t really enough to get him to the end of the show, but he couldn’t take it while Pete was right there. They talked through a couple more segments and listened to a few mixes before Patrick hatched a plan.

He waited for the next longer-talking segment. They were chatting about the most random things, tonight it was about board games. Pete was laughing and telling some story about the world’s longest game of chess, when Patrick tried to open his medication back up.

Pete couldn’t say anything while they were live, right? He wouldn’t. He was far too respectful to do that. Sure, Patrick understood that the sound of him trying to shake a few pills out was probably being picked up by the microphone, but at least he was getting away with it. Pete could yell at him  _ after  _ he’d taken the drugs.

Pete’s eyes went wide when he saw what his friend was doing. Patrick avoided eye contact and focused on the task at hand, before Pete launched a quick swipe at it.

Patrick tried to flinch, but the bottle was open, and he felt his stomach drop as the rest of the pills exploded over the studio.

Patrick gasped, and Pete quickly clicked to the next song, before pulling his headphones off and  _ glaring  _ at his partner. “ _ You  _ have a problem!”

“What the hell!?  _ You’re  _ the one who just made this mess!” Patrick accused, sweeping a pile together on the table. “You’ve got to pick them all up. I can’t get a new script until Thursday and even then, it’s not  _ fair. _ ”

“You can’t keep denying this.” Pete lecturered, bending down to the floor to collect the rest of the pills. “I get you have a pain problem. I get that your pain is probably really, really bad sometimes. But taking  _ this much  _ of a highly-addicitive painkiller is going to kill you. I know you think I’m the asshole here, but you’ve been showing signs of addiction for  _ weeks.  _ Look at you. You’re going through withdrawal, aren’t you?”

Patrick didn’t say anything, and Pete sighed. “Your hands are shaking, you’re irritable, and,” He put two fingers on Patrick’s wrist before he had a chance to react. “And your heart is  _ pounding,  _ dude. You took the last ones like an hour ago. You need  _ help. _ ”

“Well, unfortunately,  _ I’m  _ on a radio show right now and need to finish it first.” Patrick muttered, grabbing the two that had fallen on his lap and dry-swallowing them.

Pete sighed, taking the empty bottle from the table and pouring whatever pills he had collected into it, and screwing the cap on tight. “I think I need to take you to the hospital.”

“What?”

“You’ve taken a  _ lot  _ of this shit tonight, dude.”

“I haven’t  _ overdosed. _ ” Patrick spat back, almost appauled that Pete would even consider such a thing. 

“This drug kills people in their sleep.” Pete explained, his voice soft now. “You don’t think you’ve overdosed. You don’t feel any different. Except for the fact that in the morning, you don’t wake up.”

“Pete, I’m  _ fine. _ ” Patrick assured, putting a hand on his friend’s knee. “I know you’re worried, but I know my body, okay? I know it’s shit sometimes and it doesn’t work anymore, but I’ll _know_ when I’ve overdosed.”

“I’m telling your Mom what’s happened.”

“What? No, you’re  _ not. _ ”

“Either that or I’m staying the night.”

Patrick paused. Pete seemed serious. He’d taken more than this before, and he’d been fine. Pete needed to chill out.

“You don’t want to spend the night.” Patrick told him, firmly. “My ventilator is noisy as anything.  _ I  _ can hardly sleep with it, let alone anyone else.”

“Doesn’t bother me.” Pete responded, pulling his headphones back on. “But let’s finish the show first.”

There was a tension between them for the rest of the show, but thankfully it was drawing to a close anyway. They didn’t talk on the drive home, and it wasn’t until he stepped inside with Patrick that Patricia stared at the two of them.

“Everything okay, boys?”

Patrick glanced up at his friend, and Pete gave him a knowing look.  _ The ball was in his court.  _

“Pete’s, he’s, uh, he left his housekeys at home, so he’s staying the night.” Patrick stammered nervously to his mother. “He can stay with me.”

“Oh, that’s fine. Let me make up the sofa-”

“No, he’s just going to stay with me.” Patrick told her, firmly. Patricia seemed slightly confused at the proposal, but thankfully, she didn’t argue. She lent Pete a pair of Patrick’s pyjamas and sent him to shower in the regular bathroom while she got her son ready for bed.

It wasn’t until the lights were out and they were alone that they spoke.

“You don’t have to be here. My ventilator is the thing that stops me dying in the middle of the night. I’ll be fine.” Patrick muttered, unsure of whether Pete could hear him over the noisy machine on the nightstand.

“It isn’t a breathing thing.” Pete responded. “I know I don’t have to be here. I just don’t want you to die.”

“I’m not going to  _ die. _ ”

“Well, definetely not now that I’m here.”

Patrick sighed. “I’m sorry I was a bit of a dick to you today.”

“It’s okay. I get it. I don’t judge you for this shit, dude. It’s hard. I get it. My Mom had a knee injury when I was a kid and she developed a problem for the same drug, so, I just, I kinda know how easy it is to get hooked, and how hard it can be to break free of it.”

“Oh.” He responded uneasily. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t as strong with her, and she relapsed like 3 times before she finally got the help she needed. She got a lot worse than you, but I just, I don’t want to see it happen to someone I care about.”

Patrick was silent, and Pete pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re going to be fine, Patrick. Just as long as you get some help for this. Promise me you will?”

“I, uh….”

“ _ Promise  _ me.”

Patrick leaned his head over to the comfort of Pete’s shoulder, and nodded. “Okay. You do realise that means I’m going to miss a tonne more school, right?”

“I’d much rather you miss school than die of an overdose.” Pete chuckled softly.

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Patrick answered with the same gentle laugh. “Sleep well, dude. And, uh, thank you for tonight.”

“Anytime.”


	16. The Hard Truth

Patrick never did tell his Mom about the pain medication problem. He survived the night that Pete stayed over, and felt fine the next morning. He understood Pete’s concern, and he understood that he was probably taking a little bit too much, but in the grand scheme of things, he wasn’t experience a whole lot of trouble with it. He wasn’t experiencing withdrawals, or anything along those lines.

Sure, Pete said he had, but Pete wasn’t familiar with what is was like to live with quadriplegia, and didn’t understand that those were just normal things that Patrick lived with, and had lived with, since the accident. Sure, he’d argue that they’d gotten worse, but Patrick would argue that they’d for sure gotten better. His hands still shook, but four months ago he could hardly move them. His nerves were still damaged, and these things were  _ normal. _

He was taking a few too many painkillers, but Pete was exaggerating. It was nowhere near that bad. Sure, Pete had experience with painkiller issues, but he’d admitted so himself, his Mom had gotten a lot worse before she needed help.

He could fix this on his own. Self-help, he’d called it. It was going to be  _ great.  _

He was feeling empowered by this, the ability to rid himself of his own issues and fix it all up, but it didn’t last long. It hit 10am and he was working on math with Carly when he groaned and rolled his head back. “J-Just, stop.”

Carly frowned. “It’s not  _ that  _ hard, c’mon, you’re doing fine with this equation.”

“No, it just, everything  _ hurts. _ ” He muttered, folding his arms over his chest. “I can’t, I just can’t concentrate like this.”

She frowned. “Do you want some emergency medication, or do you want me to call your Mom?”

_ If his teacher aide is offering, then it’s fine, right _ ?

“Just my medication.” He mumbled. “Can I rest for a bit?”

“Yeah, sure.” She closed the math book and went through his bag to find the bottle. “But we’re coming straight back to math afterwards.”

_ Ugh. _

He finally achieved some relief when it got to lunchtime, and after a few painful hours, treated himself to the dose he’d become reliant on over the past few weeks. He left the bottle in Carly’s office to avoid suspicion, and went to find Pete.

He didn’t find Pete in the lunchroom, but that didn’t surprise him. He was about to turn around to go and check Pete’s usual hiding spots, when he was cornered by a group of friends that he didn’t really want to talk to.

“Patrick!”

He groaned internally, but didn’t fight it. “Hey, guys.”

Brendon offered an uneasy grin, and stood a little bit too close, so he was looking straight down at his friend. “Hey! How have you been? You disappeared for a little while…”

“Oh, that. I’m okay.” He quickly mitigated. “I… I wore my shoulders out and had to take a little while off to rest them. But it’s all good, I’m back now.”

“What, from,” Brendon gestured at him, vaguely. “That?”

“If you mean from pushing myself around, then yes.” Patrick sighed. Normally he was a little bit more patient with the bit-too-careful-tongued Brendon, but today his patience wasn’t quite there. He was trying to find Pete, here. He was worried about Pete. He didn’t need all these assholes worrying about him. They’d had a time for that, and they’d blown it.

“Oh.” Brendon paused. “But, like, how? It can’t be that hard? I thought you said that your chair was the ultra-light one”

“ _ Yes,  _ but I’ve also permanently fucked up my shoulders, so they’re a bit hit-or-miss.” He said impatiently. “If you’d excuse me, sorry, I’ve got to-”

“I can take you!” Brendon offered, far too pleased with himself for Patrick’s liking.

“No, it’s okay. I’m perfectly capable. Thank you, though.”

He frowned. “C’mon, dude. You’ve been avoiding us all since you got back. We’ve missed you dude.”

“Well, you clearly didn’t miss me enough to  _ visit. _ ” Patrick snapped, his frustrations bubbling over. “Or even a fucking  _ text  _ might have been nice. I’m sorry I’m not super keen to get straight back into your lives, but it’s a little hard when I hadn’t heard from you in  _ months.” _

It took Brendon a few seconds to compute the information that Patrick had just laid on him. He was silent for a minute, before he furrowed his eyebrows and glanced down at his friend in confusion.

“You can’t accuse me of that, when  _ you  _ didn’t want visitors.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“It was announced on the radio, like 3 times. Hayley and I came to the hospital to see you and your stepdad said that you didn’t have visitation, and when we came back, he said that you didn’t want visitors. And then Joe and Andy said that you didn’t want visitors either, and that you’d contact everyone when you did want visitors, and we were allowed to see you. We’ve been  _ waiting  _ and  _ waiting  _ to talk to you, Patrick! Don’t you  _ dare  _ say we didn’t try, because we tried a  _ lot.  _ And hospital parking was like $10 every time.”

Patrick blinked. “ _ What? _ ”

“You heard me.”

“No, no, about the radio! What did they tell people on there? All I wanted once I was awake was visitors. Mom actually had to  _ call  _ Joe and Andy to see me because I was convinced that I was completely alone.” He paused. “I was pretty high on drugs but I was also really,  _ really  _ lonely. Who  _ said  _ that?”

Brendon shrugged. “Beats me, man. We were all told that you needed space and you’d contact us when you were ready.”

“ _ Paul. _ ” He steamed, feeling his anger levels bubbling to the top. “That  _ asshole. _ ”

“To be fair, when we did speak to Paul for the first time, you weren’t actually allowed visitors. It was during that first week in the ICU when you were still only allowed family members.”

“Well,  _ someone  _ was responsible for the radio announcements!”

Brendon shrugged. “I don’t know, dude, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Patrick muttered, looking down at his lap. “ _ I’m  _ sorry. I was a bit of an asshole to all you guys because I thought you guys had totally ditched me when you heard I was in the chair.”

“It’s okay. I understand that.” Brendon thought about it for a moment. “Wow, no, I totally get that. I’d be really pissed if I thought everyone ditched me over something like that, damn. We’re all good, dude.”

Patrick smiled up at his friend, before he went back to trying to figure out who had sent that message. He knew that there were a couple of messages that his family had given the radio station about his well being, but after he’d regained consciousness, all he wanted was to see his friends. So  _ someone  _ had decided that he didn’t deserve that, and had cut him off from the people that he loved most.

Whoever this asshole was, he was going to  _ kill  _ them.

Signs were pointing to Paul, despite the fact that Brendon was defending him. It made sense. Paul had been pretty annoyed with Patrick since the accident. Obviously, Paul understood that it hadn’t been his fault, but he’d also gotten quite frustrated with the changes to his life that had come from this.

Paul had married Patricia, not Patrick, and even though they’d had an okay relationship, there was no way that he was fully prepared to change his life for this kid. They’d had to move house from the ‘dream home’ he’d picked out a few years earlier, his wife had to quit her job, and he was suddenly the main caretaker of his kids and had had to lessen his load at work, which meant he got to do less court-stuff and more paperwork-stuff.

Maybe he hadn’t meant it as some sort of revenge. Nobody was  _ truly  _ evil, right? Paul couldn’t be truly evil. Maybe he was. Who knows.

“You were going to find Pete, you said?” Brendon added, interrupting the silence. “I can come.”

“Um, yeah.” Patrick nodded. “He’s…. Pete’s got some pretty bad social anxiety but you can come for a walk, if you’d like.”

“Sure.” Brendon grinned. 

“And, um, if you could give me a hand and push me-”

Brendon cut him off with a laugh. “Sure, Patrick. Let me know when I need to let you know.”

“Thanks, B.”

\---

Patrick ended up finding his friend in the regular bathrooms, which had fairly big doors, thankfully. Pete was an absolute mess, but as he put it with a teary smile, “I’m still here.”

“Yeah, you are.” Patrick forced a smile back, and extended a hand to help his friend up. “You’re going good. Have you made it through a full day yet?”

“N-not yet.” Pete wiped his nose on his sleeve. “But there’s only two periods to go, so, so I should be… I’m going to try.”

“That’s the spirit.” Patrick offered encouragingly. “And I have news. My friends aren’t assholes.”

Pete was still recovering from whatever panic attack he’d had, but that proved to be a big enough distraction to distract him. “Oh?”

“Yeah. It turns out that  _ someone  _ told the radio station to tell the  _ entire world  _ that I didn’t want visitors and that everyone needed to wait until I contacted them. So my friends never contacted me because  _ they  _ thought that I didn’t want to see them.”

“Paul?” Pete asked, stating the obvious answer.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Patrick murmured. “But Brendon said that when he talked to Paul he seemed pretty straightforward. And I don’t really see a reason as to why he’d say something. He was never at the hospital anyway. I don’t see why it would make a difference to him as to whether or not I had visitors.”

“Hmm.” Pete thought about it. “It wouldn’t be your Mom, would it?”

“No, not at all. I cried to her for weeks about how I really, really  _ wanted  _ visitors.” Patrick shrugged. “What about, what about…” He froze, and felt himself seethe with rage. “ _ Gabe. _ ”

“What?”

“He’s the one that took over my job on the Afternooners!” Patrick explained quickly. “He’s, he wanted my job so badly! He was on the show originally, even before I got there, and then when I won the contract over him, he was so angry! This is why! When I went into hospital, and he was given the opportunity to cover for me, he just, he took it! That’s so…. Ugh!”

“Calm down, dude.” Pete breathed. “We don’t know  _ anything  _ yet. We can’t just go around accusing people of stuff that we don’t know they did.”

“He’s the only option!”

“That’s not  _ true. _ It could have been an accident. Don’t start anything until we have the facts.” Pete told him. “And we’ve got to go. We’ve got english soon.”

Patrick sighed, and nodded. “Alright. Will you come for a walk back to Carly’s office to get my stuff?”

“Sure dude.”

“Thanks.”

\----

Pete was in disbelief that  _ somehow  _ he had managed to make it through the day.

Sure, he’d done a lot these past new months since moving. He’d started medication to help manage his anxiety symptoms, he’d been back to see his therapist, and now that he’d officially made it through an entire day at school, he’d come to realise that he was doing  _ better. _

It was a good feeling. He’d spent almost 3 years of his life completely isolated because of it, and this was the first step out of it. He had school now, he had a job where he was practicing his conversational skills a lot, and Patrick was proving to be a really, really good radio coach. He could always pick up the conversation where Pete ran out of things to say, and Pete had been there for help with the technical stuff in return.

However after that came one of the biggest problems - he was going to have to go and have this stupid meeting with Mark, the station manager. He was not used to that sort of stuff, hell, he’d lied his way out of the first one. He knew that it was probably going to be a good meeting - their listener numbers had gone up and up and their segments on youtube were raking in hundreds of thousands of views (as much as that terrified him).

He was going to try and get out of this one as well, but he knew that it wasn’t an option. Especially considering that Patrick was currently on some sort of death rampage to try and find the culprit responsible for destroying his social life.

If anything, he needed to go to this meeting to stop Patrick from destroying any  _ more  _ relationships.

It was going to be a difficult task. All Patrick had talked about on the drive to work was how frustrated he was at whoever had done this. Apparently he hadn’t had a chance to talk to Paul yet, but he doubted he was the culprit. Gabe was most likely for this, he’d decided.

“Let’s just talk to Mark about it first…” Pete tried to mitigate.

And so Patrick did. Pete let him into the office by holding the door open, and by the time that he’d entered Mark’s office, Patrick was already drilling into the station manager about an event that had happened almost six months ago.

“Who did that?” He pushed, his hand shaking.

“I honestly don’t know, sorry.” Mark looked as confused as Pete expected him to be. “It was quite a while ago.”

“I know. It just  _ ruined my life _ for a few months so I’m trying to track it down.”

“Well, I can probably dig out the notes I took from your stepfather’s phone call.” Mark said. “But, this is not the purpose of this meeting. Sit down, Pete. I just want to congratulate you two.”

“Hmm?” Patrick asked. “What for?”

Mark grinned. “Being promoted. No more midnight shift for you guys. I want you to take the dinnertime shift.”

“Really?” Pete watched as his coworker’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “We get the  _ dinner  _ shift? Not even the late evening? We get to go straight to  _ dinnertime _ ?”

“Uh huh.” Mark grinned. “Now, it’s 6pm to 8:30, so it’s a shorter shift, but you get significantly more listership, and I’m sure once you two take a crack at it, then you’re going to be doing even better.”

Pete sat with his hands in his lap. That was a big step up. Sure, he’d made it through a whole day at school today, but he also  _ had only just made it through a whole day at school today.  _ The dinnertime shift meant  _ much  _ more listeners, and also  _ callers  _ and so many more things that were making his stomach do knots.

“I’d have to come straight from physio…” Patrick said, trailing off into uncertainty. “So… I could do it…”

Mark’s face fell a little. “If it’s a bit too early, we can do some shuffling around with the shift times. I’d have to get it past the board, but with the numbers that you two are pulling at  _ midnight,  _ I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”

“I should be fine.” Patrick quickly stammered. “I mean… when I leave physio I’m usually hurting for a bit, but that’s just because it’s only been six months so, so I mean, I’ll be fine, and it’ll only get better from here. I mean, from the beginning of the midnight show until now, I’ve been doing better anyway, so, it should be fine.”

“Okay.” Mark tapped something up on his computer. “What about you, Pete? You’ve been a bit quiet.”

He glanced over at Patrick, who gave him a reassuring smile, and put a hand on his. “I-I’m… I… I c-could… I…”

“Don’t be nervous. Nothing’s set in stone yet.” Mark laughed.

_ Oh, if only you knew how much worse that made it.  _ Nothing was made Pete’s anxiety worse than knowing exactly how stupid it was.

“I-I, I d-don’t know how I-I’d go with c-callers and, a-and stuff.”

“I can help you with that.” Patrick assured, and Pete wanted to scream at him to  _ shut up because that doesn’t make a difference at all.  _ “I know it’s big, but if you wait until you’re ready then it’s never going to come.”

“U-Um…”

“So is that a yes?” Mark smiled, looking between the two of them.

_ No, of course not. _

“Yeah!” Patrick grinned. “I’m so down.”

_ Oh fuck. _

“Awesome! I’ll run up some new contracts tonight. But here, we got new station hoodies in.” Mark grabbed some from the box and handed them to his employees. “But congratulations, guys. You should be in the new slot in a few weeks. Now what was that thing you wanted me to look up, Patrick?”

That conversation was clearly over, and Pete quickly excused himself from office to the safe place of studio 3. He sat down, put his head in his hands, and let his emotions run. How  _ dare  _ Patrick? Pete had been a good friend to him, and a little bit more, even, and yet he just went and signed Pete up to this thing that he definitely wasn’t ready for. He would  _ never  _ be ready for this. He was only just making progress with what he had on his plate  _ currently,  _ he couldn’t handle this too!

And for what, a new station hoodie? And Patrick’s happiness?

Patrick probably wouldn’t be able to make it half the time, anyway, considering it was straight after physio. So bt signing up to this, he was essentially telling Pete that he was going to have to manage this high-stress time-slot, on his own, by himself, with his issues, for literally half the time. How was that fair?

He understood that this was important to Patrick, and that this was essentially Patrick’s end goal, but he also needed to take into account the other people that were involved in this. Pete wasn’t going to be okay with this. He  _ wasn’t  _ okay with this now. 

He was still absolutely fuming when there was a knock at the door. “Pete? Good news! It’s not Gabe! It was written in the message, so I’m back to thinking it’s Paul!”

Pete ran over and quickly opened the door. He tried to hide his emotions, but there was absolutely nothing he could do once his face and eyes were red with tears. He watched Patrick’s face fall and ask that stupid, stupid question.

“Are you okay?”

No, of course he wasn’t okay. He ushered Patrick in, and sat back down on his studio chair. He didn’t even know where to begin.

“Is this about the shift change thing?” Patrick asked hesitantly. “I…”

“Patrick, I don’t know what it’s like to be you.” Pete sniffled, wiping his nose. “I don’t know what it’s like to live as you do. I don’t know what sort of pain you go through, and what sort of shit you’ve been through. I’ve been supportive, and I’ve been there when you need help, and even though I’ve noticed some shit that is concerning, I haven’t ratted you out or made any decisions for you, because you are your own person and you’re the only one who can make decisions for you. You’re the only one who can deal with that, and therefore you’re the only one who should have a say in how, other than doctors and stuff.”

Patrick opened his mouth to respond, but Pete didn’t let him cut in.

“You know what I’ve got in the same way that I know what you’ve got. And sure, my shit is all in my head, and I know it, but it’s  _ also  _ a very real issue that I can’t just ‘snap out of’. And I know that you have a lot of issues, too, and a lot of those issues affect this show, and this station, and me. I’ve probably done at least half of these midnight shows on my own. And I  _ know  _ that it’s not your fault, and I  _ know  _ that it’s a bit annoying that these things happen, but what does matter here is that when we move to the slot that I can barely handle while you’re  _ there,  _ I definitely can’t handle it when you’re  _ not. _ And that’s just going to be career suicide.”

Patrick sighed softly. “You’re right, dude. I’m so sorry.”

“I  _ can’t  _ do dinnertime.” Pete mumbled. “I can, I can probably handle late night. But I’m gonna need a lot more time before a prime-time shift. And you’re still doing physio in the afternoons, so I just…”

“Yeah.” Patrick breathed. “Look, dude, I’m sorry. We should have talked about it.”

Pete nodded, staring down at his lap. “Yeah. Just, as long as you can fix it up with Mark without me actually having to… speak to him.”

“Yeah, I can probably sort that out. I’m sorry again, dude. You’ve literally made it one day at school, I should have been more considerate.”

“Mmmm.”

“Have I really missed  _ half  _ of them?”

“Yeah. It doesn’t feel like it, because you were really injured for a while, but you’ve missed quite a few. It’s been okay, I mean, I’ve learned a lot and I’ve been practicing the segments and stuff, but it’s so much more fun when you’re there.”

“Shit.” Patrick looked down at his hands. “God, Pete, I… I didn’t realise. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. These things happen.” Pete tried to assure him. “We’re going to be okay. Both of us. I… I need to take a bit more time to recover, and you need to understand what you can and can’t do, and we’re going to be fine.”

“I need to accept my limitations.” Patrick mumbled, clenching his hand in a fist.

“Yeah, exactly.” Pete agreed, before noticing how this was making him a little bit more upset than he pictured. “What’s up?”

“I’ve been fighting with Mom. She wants me to get an electric wheelchair.”

“And that’s bad?”

“That’s the very worst.” Patrick mumbled. “Like, people look at you in a manual chair and just kinda assume that you’re okay, your legs just don’t work. Once you’re in an electric chair, especially when you’re young, everyone assumes you can’t do anything at all, and your brain doesn’t work anymore. I saw it happen to a bunch of people in rehab. Plus from there it’s only a hop skip and jump away from a ventilator, and  _ that  _ would be the end of my career.”

“They’re not going to give you a ventilator. You don’t need one.” Pete reassured. “I mean, yeah, it’s a step up, but it also means that your arms aren’t going to get injured so often, and you’re going to be able to be so much more independent. It’s honestly probably the best thing you could do.”

“I know that it is.” He sighed, grabbing the rims of his wheels, almost in self-defence. “Everyone is telling me that. I just… it makes me  _ feel  _ more disabled, you know? And I only just got Brendon treating me normally again, once I get an electric chair, it’s just…”

“Mmm.”

“Plus they’re  _ expensive. _ ” He added. “And my insurance won’t cover a second chair after the first so that just means that I have to pay for it. And I mean, Paul got a big payout from the bus company in the first few months, but that money is supposed to be for keeping on top of doctor's visits and stuff, and he’s already complaining how fast my medication is draining those funds.”

“What does your doctor say about an electric chair? Surely your insurance can’t deny you a medical necessity. It would probably work out cheaper for them, considering that then they wouldn’t need to continually pay for treatment of your arm injuries.”

“I know, but I just don’t  _ want  _ one. And then I’d have to call Dad in order to get him to yell at them, but I haven’t even  _ seen  _ him since before the accident, and he probably doesn’t want to deal with all that.”

“Hmm?”

“Deployed. Insurance through the military.”

“Ah.” Pete thought about it for a moment. “But then your insurance should be awesome. They should definitely be paying for a new chair.”

Patrick groaned. “Yeah. It’s all just too hard. I’m letting Mom sort it out.”

Pete nodded in understanding, before leaning back in his chair. “I guess it’ll all work out eventually. But for now, the late night?”

Patrick nodded. “The late night.”

Pete grinned and pecked a kiss to Patrick’s cheek. “Thank you, dude. For understanding.”

“Hey, thank you for being honest with me. I owe you big time.”

“Will you let me kiss you again as repayment?”

Patrick laughed. “Of course.”


	17. You Need To Calm Down

Patrick knew his new house fairly well by now. He knew where everything was in the kitchen, how to get everywhere, and all the little nooks and crannies. Sure, he doubted that he’d be doing the vacuuming anytime soon, but he could at least say that he knew where the vacuum cleaner was kept.

But there was one room that he hadn’t ventured into yet. Okay, maybe 3, he hadn’t gone through the kid’s rooms either. But the home office wasn’t really anywhere he ever needed to be. If his Mom ever did any computer stuff, she used her laptop at the kitchen table, so she could keep an eye on the kids. It was pretty much Paul’s room at this point, and Patrick needed to talk to him.

At least it had the same door frames as the rest of the house. It wasn’t hard to get in there, and it wasn’t hard for Patrick to start the horrible conversation that he knew he had to have with his stepfather.

“Paul.”

Paul was working on something or other, but did lift his hands away from his computer when his stepson came into the room. Patrick presumed that this was because this was the first time that he’d come looking for him since the accident, but at least he wasn't his normal ignorant, insufferable self right now.

“Hey, Patrick.” He turned around on his desk chair, confusion visible on his face. “Your Mom popped out to get some milk. Everything okay?”

“I just need to talk to you about when you called the radio station while I was in the hospital.” Patrick tried to maintain a calm manner, despite the rage burning inside of him.

“Oh, yeah, sure. What do you want to know?”

“Did you tell them that I didn’t want visitors?” Patrick couldn’t hide the menace in his voice in that sentence, despite his best attempt not to.

“I did the  _ first _ time I called.” Paul responded, looking quite confused as to why they were having this conversation in the first place. “But that was when you weren’t allowed visitors and you were in the ICU.”

“What about the other time?” He pushed.

“Well, I just told them what your Mom told me. And she told me to tell the station that you didn’t want visitors, that you would contact your friends in your own time, and that you were in a stable but still quite serious condition. I was just the messenger.”

“Are you sure that  _ she  _ said to do that?”

“Pretty sure.”

Patrick studied his stepfather’s face, looking for any signs of guilt, or anything that would show that he was lying about this. And despite Patrick desperately trying to find  _ anything,  _ he didn’t see it. As much as he hated to admit it, Paul was telling the truth.

“I’m going to make a drink, do you want one?” Paul asked, getting up from his office chair. “Your Mom should be back soon. Maybe have a chat to her about it. What’s the big deal with this anyway?”

“It’s nothing.” He mumbled. “But some water would be amazing, thank you.”

 

——

 

Patrick spent a while sitting around waiting for his Mom to get home. The water from Paul was lovely, but he disappeared before Patrick could ask for his help to turn the TV on.

Patrick didn’t bother him again. Sure, he could be an asshole at times, and he didn’t always see eye-to-eye with Patrick, but he didn’t do the thing that Patrick had accused him of, and he felt bad now.

Patricia arrived home with the milk, and bread, and some other bits and pieces for dinner. She greeted her children warmly, and set to the kitchen to start preparing the sauce. After all, it was Patrick’s last midnight shift tonight, and she’d promised to make his favourite pasta as a celebration.

Patrick entered the kitchen slowly, and parked at the lowered part of the bench so he could rest his hands on the surface. “Can I ask you about something, Mom?”

“Sure, sweetheart. What’s up?”

“When I was in the hospital, and you asked Paul to call the radio station, did you tell him that I didn’t want visitors?”

She looked up from the saucepan, and Patrick watched as her demeanour changed from comfortable to slightly uneasy in a heartbeat.

“Well, you weren’t allowed visitors, pumpkin.” She said slowly. “They wanted to wait until after the surgery recovery period to make sure that there weren't any infection problems, and you weren’t trying to overexert yourself. You… you weren’t in the best way.”

“But  _ after _ .” Patrick hated this conversation. His Mom had been his biggest support, his best friend and sole caregiver since that fateful night. He didn’t want her to be the cause of this. She had done nothing but be absolutely incredible, and was the number one person that Patrick trusted. 

“Paul had to call them a second time once you knew the extent of the injury, y’know, to let them know I wouldn’t be back for a while because I had to go to rehab and get my chair and stuff.” Patrick told her uneasily. “And that was at the point where I was so lonely and stuff, but apparently you told Paul to tell the radio station that I still didn’t want visitors, and I’d contact people when I wanted to see them.”

There was silence for a minute. Patricia stirred her sauce, before moving it off the heat.

“You weren’t  _ ready  _ for visitors, sweetheart.” She said softly.

“ _ What _ ?”

“I told him to say that, and in hindsight, it probably wasn’t the right thing to do.” She admitted. “But you have to understand where you were at that point in time. You were still in the ICU, you still were paralysed from the neck down, you were struggling so  _ much.  _ I was just so worried about people coming in and seeing you in that spot. I just wanted you to get a little better first, get more of yourself back.”

“You stopped me from seeing my friends because you thought they’d ditch me once they saw me?” Patrick asked, almost in disbelief. “So then they were  _ forced  _ to ditch me because they wouldn’t be able to see me at all.”

“Sweetheart, it was for the best.” She tried. “You were so popular on the radio, there were fans calling me constantly because they wanted to come. I was just trying to  _ protect  _ you. So that you could choose what friends you wanted to visit, and you could text them or something. Like we did with Joe and Andy, remember?”

Patrick could feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes, but he blinked them away in frustration. “With what  _ hands,  _ Mom?! You never  _ told me  _ that you’d said that, you just listened to me cry about how all my friends had ditched, and you  _ knew  _ why, and you never even said  _ anything _ ! I went for six months thinking that they were assholes, but they were assholes because that’s what you made me think they were!”

“I’m sorry, pumpkin.” She sighed softly, knowing that she was very much in the wrong here. “I just thought you needed a bit more time to heal. You were just so  _ broken. _ ”

“And I still  _ am _ !” Patrick almost yelled, gesturing wildly. “I’m in a fucking  _ wheelchair,  _ Mom! And I’m going to be for the rest of my  _ life _ ! I’ve lost,  _ everything _ ! My radio spot got taken away, I can’t play my instruments anymore, fuck, I can’t even just go to school anymore! I’ve got have some fucking assistant! I can’t even  _ sleep  _ without help anymore!”

Patricia was tearing up a little bit now, but put a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Y-You’ve got to calm down sweetheart, your lungs can’t take the s-shouting…”

“And another thing!” Patrick couldn’t hold back his tears. “I-I’m a radio host! How am I supposed to keep my career when my lungs d-don’t fucking work?! The only thing I had left was my friends, and you  _ took  _ that from me! And you watched me suffer and didn’t say  _ anything! _ ”

Patricia was as diligent as always, and ran for the medicine cupboard. She returned a few seconds later with his puffer and a glass of water, and quickly sat beside him to stop him from going blue.

He hated it. He hated how his body refused to let him express emotion without seemingly shutting down, and more than that he hated his stubborn-ness right now. She was the only person who knew his care needs. Sure, Patrick knew bits and pieces, but she was the one who kept a binder of his medical records, organised his medications, and could pinpoint every symptom to a specific cause. 

He hadn’t let anyone else learn, because that would mean that they would be in charge of his care sometimes, and he didn’t trust them to do that. He relied on the care of others to keep himself alive, and yet, had tried to limit it to only one individual that he felt he could truly believe in.

And he was so, so mad at that person right now. She was family, and Patrick knew that he would eventually forgive her and come around, but his anger needed space and he needed time to process. He just couldn’t have that while she was the only person who could care for him. 

It was so frustrating to be so mad at somebody, and also have them being the one to try and make you take the puffer so that your airways don’t close. Once Patrick had gotten out of the dangerous breathing zone, he quickly vacated the kitchen and slammed the door closed to his bedroom.

Socks was there for him, at least. He hugged his cat tight when he leapt onto his lap, and then quickly called his work friend. Pete would take him out for dinner. He might have to come home at the end of the night, but for now, he could get out of here.

 

——

 

Pete did have homework to do, but he’d heard the desperation in his friend’s voice, and had driven out to get him a few hours early. After a quick stop for burgers for dinner, they were sitting in the kitchen at the radio station to pass the time until they were live.

Pete had brought his homework. It was due tomorrow, after all, and he needed to stay on top of his schoolwork, especially considering that his attendance was so poor at this point. He sat and quietly worked on his essay, while Patrick sat with his arms folded and seethed.

“I’m not mad at her for  _ doing  _ it.” He said eventually. “I’m mad that she didn’t  _ tell  _ me. If she’d told me, then I would have been able to text or call people and let them know that I missed them. But she made me think that they didn’t want anything to do with me, and just  _ let  _ me believe that.”

“Yeah.” Pete murmured, continuing his homework. “It’s a pretty bad situation.”

“And I can’t even do anything about it!” Patrick huffed in annoyance. “Can you pass me my medication please? I think it’s in my backpack.”

Pete grabbed it. A familiar bottle. One that he’d held once before, when he’d picked up it’s contents from all over the studio floor.

“How’s this going?” He asked, changing the subject as he took two out of the bottle and pressed them into Patrick’s palm. “Have you talked to your Mom about these yet?”

“I’m not talking to my Mom about  _ anything. _ ” Patrick muttered, tossing the pills into the back of his mouth.

“No, that’s not what I meant. You  _ promised  _ me that you would get help.” Pete told him sternly. 

“I’ve been cutting back.” Patrick mumbled.

“Dude!”

“What?”

“That is  _ definitely  _ not getting help! You can’t do this on your own. How many of these have you taken today?”

Patrick groaned. “Dude, there’s more important things-“

“No, there is  _ nothing  _ that is more important than this. Sure, I mean, you’re mad at your Mom, and it’s completely understandable, but this is your fucking  _ health,  _ and you’re going to kill yourself if you don’t realise that you have major issues here!”

Patrick didn’t respond.

“Surely you realise that you have some issues. The side effects are real, dude. How on earth do you ignore them and pretend that they’re okay?”

“Because I don’t  _ have  _ side effects.” He muttered, folding his arms.

“Of course you do!” Pete almost yelled at him. “I’ve  _ seen  _ them!”

“Well, maybe, the side effects of these drugs are  _ exactly  _ the same thing as what I already deal with!” Patrick snapped. “You don’t know my fucking disability, and you don’t know how it affects me, so stop pretending you do! I’m  _ fine,  _ okay?!”

“Patrick, for the love of god!” Pete finally yelled. “I get it! I get that you’re fucking miserable like this! I get that you still don’t accept that you’re going to need to rely on other people from now on, and I fucking get that life is  _ hard,  _ alright?! But this isn’t something you can play with when you get angry. This is your  _ life,  _ this is your  _ health,  _ and this is bigger than just you! Because Patrick,  _ newsflash,  _ people still give a shit about you! Your Mom made a stupid decision, but she made it because she  _ loves  _ you and wanted to protect you! All your school friends! Tried to come and visit you because they give a shit as well! Fuck, Patrick, even me! I fucking  _ love  _ you and you won’t get off your high horse and listen to me when I’m trying to help you!”

Patrick blinked. “What?”

Pete sighed. “Dude, you need to take care of yourself. I know that you’re mad, and frustrated, and a whole lot of other things, but none of these things are worth your health, and your life. You have a really big support network, actually, and a whole lot of people who really love you and want to see you succeed.”

“Because you love me.”

Pete went red, and quickly looked away. “Well, yeah. And as a person who really gives a shit about you, I’m  _ begging  _ you, just, please start taking care of yourself.”

Patrick sighed, and rubbed his eyes in frustration. “I can’t just  _ stop  _ taking my medication, Pete.”

“I know. You need to wean off them, slowly, and with strong supervision and help.” He explained, slightly relieved he’d distracted Patrick from his earlier comment. “This is why it’s so hard to do it on your own. Just talk to your doctor about it. But how many have you taken today?”

“You really don’t want to know, dude.”

“No, I really do.”

“Let’s just say I don’t have enough fingers.” Patrick muttered. “But I’ve been dealing with a lot today.”

“Patrick…”

“I know, I know.” Patrick waved his hand dismissively. “It’s not good but neither is my pain level. I’ll get help, for real this time, but today is okay.”

Pete stared at him, before grabbing the bottle of medication and shoving it deep into his own backpack.

“What are you doing that for? You just said that I couldn’t go cold turkey on it.”

“I know. I’ll give it to your Mom when I drop you home.”

“Like hell you are!” Patrick raised his voice again. “That’s mine!”

“I know it’s yours, but if you take literally any more of this then you’re going to the hospital. So I’m just taking a precaution, because the last time this happened, you tried to sneak it past me on the air.”

“Pete!” Patrick hated the desperation in his voice. “C’mon. You know that I can’t even get it out of my own bag without help. Just  _ please  _ give it back.”

“None more tonight.” He said firmly, shoving it into the depths of Patrick’s bag where he would definitely etely need help to get it back. “And if I see you reaching for it, I’m taking it back.”

Every part of Patrick was yelling to scream at Pete for that, but he knew deep down that it was probably for the best. He lowered his arms and nodded silently.

He’d have to sneak them back when Pete went to go make coffee or something.

He didn’t bring anything with him other than this phone, but he did remember his login to the station computers, and so spent the night watching YouTube while Pete did his homework. The withdrawals were starting by the time that they went on air, but he tried to hide it from Pete, and distracted himself with a big announcement.

“The time is 11:02pm and this is the Midnight show with Pete and Patrick!” He smiled into the microphone. “It’s a very special night tonight for us, tomorrow we’ll be taking the airwaves from 8pm to 11pm, and running The Late Night show. Of course, you can catch our show anytime online and featured segments on YouTube.”

“We’d like to thank all of you for tuning in so late to listen to us, and help us move up in the station.” Pete smiled as well. “It wouldn’t be possible without your support, and hopefully once we’re in the better time slot we’ll be able to help get the word out about our show, and bring you content that we never could before.”

“But before we get into tonight’s fun, I just wanted to talk a little bit about the past few months, and me.” Patrick’s tone shifted, and Pete looked up at him uncertainly. “Some of you might know that about six months ago now I was in a very serious accident when I was coming home from the station, and not a lot of updates were given to you guys. It might be a bit late, but I figured tonight was probably a good opportunity to talk about it.”

Patrick was interrupted by Pete’s hand coming gently to rest on his own. He glanced up at his coworker, to find a reassuring smile. He took a deep breath and smiled back.

“Um… so, yeah.” He fumbled a second later, realising they were still on the air. “I was involved in a bus accident. There was a lot of fog that day, and I was riding my bike home from the station, and there was a sharp turn, and not a lot of visibility, but either way, the bus and I ended up colliding and I was actually really lucky to make it out of there alive. I broke my cervical spine, about where the neck meets the shoulders, and that’s kinda paralysed me a bit? Yeah. A few of you who go to the same school as Pete and I might have seen me in my wheelchair. It’s unlikely that I’ll ever regain any movement of my legs, but I’ve been working really hard with a physio to get control over my arms again, and that allowed me to get back to the radio, and do what I really love again.”

“And trust me, he’s a workaholic.” Pete laughed, bringing some much-needed light to the segment.

“I only learned the other day that it was said over the radio that I didn’t want visitors, and I’m really sorry to everyone who wanted to see me in the recovery months.” Patrick said quietly. “And I’m sorry to how I treated my friends when I came back to school. It’s been a long process for me, and I’m still processing it, but the people in my life are the most important thing to me, so I just wanted to put it out there that I’m really sorry for how I’ve treated some of you over the past few months. I’m back now, much better, and I’m really keen to talk to some of you again, and make new friendships as well.”

Pete smiled at him, and Patrick smiled back. The next song played, and Patrick breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t going to undo the past 6 months, but at least he was open now. At least his friends knew that he didn’t hate them now. He could talk to them soon.

 

——-

 

Their last midnight show was relatively smooth-going. They played some of their all-time favourite songs, joked around, laughed a little and enjoyed themselves. Patrick managed without his medication for the most part, but did take notice that the pain in his shoulders returned within a few hours, and he was a bit more jittery than normal.

He managed to sneak some extras when Pete went around to turn all the studio lights off before they locked up. He buried them back in his bag to the same place afterwards, and miraculously didn’t get discovered.

He smiled when Pete wandered back towards him, and played with his hands nervously. “Can I ask a really big favour?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Can I stay with you tonight?”

Pete blinked. “You want to stay with me? At my house? I thought that was literally the worst thing ever.”

“It still is.” Patrick shrugged. “But I just… I need a break from Mom. I can go home tomorrow. I just need a break for a little while. And, and I didn’t die last time I spent the night with you.”

Pete sighed, and sat down on one of the chairs in the reception area. “You can’t endanger your life based on a small amount of anger.”

“I’m not endangering my life, Pete.” Patrick rolled his eyes. “I just don’t want to talk to her. And the worst thing that could happen is probably some bad pain in the morning.”

“And that wasn’t a lot of fun for you last time.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re the  _ only  _ other person I trust, Pete. Sure, Mom knows a lot more about my medication and stuff, but you’re the only other person I can rely on. I can’t trust Paul, I kinda trust my school friends but I wouldn’t trust them to help me with sleep stuff, so it’s just… you.”

“I’m honoured, dude, but still.” Pete answered anxiously. “I’ve spent the night with you. I know how much stuff you have to do. I’m… not really comfortable. Well, I mean, we could swing by your place to get your stuff, but that defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

“Uh huh.” Patrick mumbled.

“Look, dude. She  _ loves  _ you. Sure, she made a bad choice. She made it when she was scared, when she didn’t know what your outcomes were going to be. It might have been the wrong choice, and I totally get why you’re mad, but she made it out of love. And she’s done so many other amazing things for you. She quit her job for you, spends her time looking out for you, got you a spot back on the radio station, y’know. Your Mom is  _ amazing _ . Don’t let something like this get between you two.”

“ _ Fine. _ ”

“Fine what?”

“Fine! I’ll go home.” Patrick folded his arms, before smiling slightly. “It’s okay. I’ll talk to her. But, uh, do you want to come?”

“What?”

“One, you love me.” Patrick teased lightly, before his face fell slightly. “And I took more of my drugs and… I don’t feel so well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey beans!!! Thank you for reading!! And leaving me comments last chapter!! I really appreciated it!!! Day 14 of NaNoWriMo and I’m up to 28K, which is really cool!! I’ve never been this organised with NaNo before and I’m feeling really good about it!! SJ is actually doing good??? Shocking news.   
> Anyway big love and big thanks to you guys for all your love and support!! I hope you like the cliffhanger I left you on :)))  
> I hope you’re liking the longer chapters too!! I’m changing up how I write things these days (actually planning instead of just making it up as I go djgewnjrn) so hopefully it’s translating well?? Idk.  
> Thank you again!!! Big love!! I hope you all have the most amazing day/week/month/year!!  
> \- SJ


	18. New Beginnings

Pete was very concerned for his friend that night. He was very, very close to turning to him and suggesting that instead of going home, they head straight to the ER. In hindsight, he probably should have done so, but hoped that Patricia would make the right call once they got back.

Patrick opened up to his mother, to an extent. He told her that he’d taken too many of his pills, but didn’t let on about the larger problem at play here. He just brushed it off with a “it was a bad pain day” and dealt with the overdose from there.

He was lucky. He didn’t feel lucky, but the fact that instead of dying in his sleep, he violently vomited for most of the night, probably saved his life.  Pete stayed by his side throughout the whole ordeal, while Patricia went and cleaned the bucket on his lap whenever it was used again.

They didn’t get any sleep, but then again, it was probably for the best.

The rest of Patrick’s family managed to sleep through the entire ordeal, but were awake once the sun came up. Patricia was faring a little better than the two boys, considering she’d managed to sleep while they were on the air, and went about making breakfast for everyone, and trying to get Patrick to keep his fluids up.

The kids just wanted to play with the exciting new visitor in their house.

“Did you have a sleepover?” Eli asked Pete in between slurps of breakfast cereal.

“Uh… kinda?” Pete chuckled uncertainly. “We didn’t really do any sleeping.”

“That’s part of it.” Ella informed him, matter-of-factly. “There isn’t allowed to be any sleeping at a sleepover. You have to not do any. Sleeping is  _ only  _ allowed after the midnight snack.”

“Oh, I guess we did good then.” Pete glanced at his friend with a smile. Patrick grunted in response, and took another sip of the Gatorade his mother was making him drink.

“Patrick’s not fun anymore.” Eli shrugged.

“That’s not true.” Pete told him, sternly. “He’s just a bit sick at the moment, but Patrick and I have  _ lots  _ of fun together.”

“He’s fun when we play monopoly!” Eli’s eyes widened. “We should play! I’m gonna get it!”

“No, pumpkin. Not right now.” Patricia told her youngest, placing a cup of juice in front of him. “We’re just going to have a quiet morning today. Maybe this afternoon we can play, but the boys need to have a rest because they didn’t sleep.”

“Mom!”

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you guys pick a movie?” Pete offered, directing them to the DVD shelf in the living room.  “We can all watch together!”

With the kids successfully taken care of, and his Mom gone to have a shower, Patrick rubbed his eyes and looked to his friend. “I’m sorry, Pete…”

“What? No, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” Pete assured him, patting his shoulder. “If anything, this is the best possible thing that could have happened.”

Patrick groaned in response to that. He  _ still  _ felt like shit, but didn’t want to eat anything because it was likely that he’d just throw it all up again. He was very grateful for his friend hanging around to help, but he also felt terrible for causing all this drama.

“You going to talk to your Mom today?” Pete asked.

“I’ll try.” Patrick mumbled. “I’m sorry I just kept doing this stuff-“

“It’s okay. It’s hard. I get it.” Pete held his hand. “I just want you to be okay. And this is probably a good wake up call.”

“Mmm.” He looked at his lap. “Thank you. For staying. I can’t imagine you love me when I’m throwing up all night.”

Pete laughed. “Even when you’re throwing up all night.”

“Really?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The two laughed, Patrick’s tapering off far quicker when it started to hurt his chest. Pete was about to open his mouth to check he was okay, when they were interrupted by a  _ very  _ demanding voice that informed them they needed to come to the lounge room for the beginning of 101 Dalmatians.

The problem with Patrick’s lounge room was the lack of chairs. There was the single chair, which was probably the most comfortable, but it was taken by Patrick’s little sister. There was a much larger lounge that they could probably share, but Eli had somehow managed to cover all 3 spots with the help of some stuffed animals.

Pete went to sit down on the floor, but Patrick grabbed his arm before that. “No, Eli, buddy, clear some room for Pete on the couch, okay?”

“But I was here  _ first _ !”

“It’s okay.” Pete tried. “I don’t mind.”

“I do. You’re a guest.” Patrick glared at his younger brother to move, but Eli folded his arms and grinned in victory,

Then the answer came to him. It should have been obvious, it was literally right in front of him.

“Here.” Patrick gently brushed some crumbs off his thighs. “You can have my lap.”

Pete laughed. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, dude.” He held his arms out for the embrace. “It’s not as good as the couch, but I’d say it’s better than the floor.”

Pete shrugged, and after a little bit of awkward shuffling, Patrick was actually really enjoying Pete’s embrace. He might not be able to spoon anymore, but this seemed to be a fair alternative. He hooked his chin over Pete’s shoulder to see the TV, and wrapped his arms around Pete’s waist to hold him tight. Pete seemed to be enjoying it too, and rested back into the embrace.

It was actually really, really nice.

“Why does  _ he  _ get to sit on your lap?” Eli whined, looking up from his spot on the couch. “You never let  _ me  _ do it.”

“Because he’s my  _ boyfriend. _ ” Patrick told him, matter-of-factly.

“Oh, I am?” Pete glanced back at the owner of the lap he was currently occupying.

“Uh huh.” Patrick grinned. “If you want to be, that is.”

Pete laughed. “I think I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay, good.” Patrick hugged him tighter.

Eli frowned. “Can I have a turn  _ later _ ?”

“Maybe.” Patrick offered. “Once my shoulders get a little better. I can’t push you around.”

“Awww!”

“I know. I’m just a little broken. But it’s okay. Pete’s here to look after me.”

“Uh huh.” Pete agreed.

“That’s okay, but no more sitting on top of each other.” Patricia wandered in with some gatorade, and Pete quickly got up. “We’ve got enough illness to worry about, we don’t need pressure sores as well.”

“ _ Mom. _ ” Patrick groaned, missing the embrace already. “C’mon.”

She chuckled and rolled her eyes. “You have plenty of time for cuddling after we get your fluids back up. Drink this, pumpkin. And Eli, baby, don’t be selfish with the couch. Share with Pete.”

Patrick parked himself on the edge of the couch, so he could at least hold hands with Pete during the film. The kids settled down for the movie, and even though it wasn’t a good night’s sleep, it was a nice rest for the two of them.

At some point during the day, he expected Pete to shove his things into his bag, and drive off home, maybe with a promise “I’ll see you at school on Monday”, but he never did. Patrick got to enjoy his presence for the whole day, whether it was watching movies, the warmth of a mid-afternoon nap, and playing board games with the kids. Even just sitting around and talking. Patricia made him dinner, and Patrick was very glad when he climbed into bed beside him.

“Thank you for staying with me today.” Patrick mumbled sleepily, letting his head settle on Pete’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. No worries.” Pete assured. “It’s what boyfriends do, I guess.”

Patrick chuckled softly. “Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t say it back to you before. I wasn’t really in a good state of mind.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t feel it.” Pete responded. “I…. I probably said it a bit soon, and I guess I just… I…”

“No, I’m saying it because I’ve felt it for a while and I’ve been trying to pretend that I haven’t.” Patrick assured him. “You’re the number one person that I want to be around. I don’t have to hide anything from you, I don’t have to be anyone else around you, and you’ve done so much to help me, and I just, I don’t want to be without you.”

Pete blushed, and pressed a kiss to the top of Patrick’s head. “I love you too.

 

\-------

 

The difference between the midnight show and the late night show was much bigger than the two expected.

It was only a few hours difference, but the difference was astounding. Normally, when they arrived at 10:30 to start getting ready for the broadcast, the place was absolutely deserted. There was the team on the air, of course, but they’d never actually run into those guys because by the time that they left their studio, Pete and Patrick were already setting up in studio 3.

Tonight, the place was buzzing. Meaghan was there, with her usual plate of cookies (Patrick got to enjoy one this time, and complimented her once again on her baking skills). It was only 6, so all the station staff were in the building as well, from the accountants, the marketing team, and the sponsorship team, all the way to the guys who build the playlists and built the structure for the shows. The entire place was bustling, and Patrick felt Pete freeze up beside him as soon as the elevator doors opened.

“It’s okay.” Patrick grabbed his hand. “Most of these guys are just doing their own thing. We’re here to see Mark, get a rundown on the sponsorship stuff for tonight, and then to do our segment. You’re going to be fine.”

Pete had worn his station hoodie tonight, feeling that it was going to be a good way to celebrate the beginning of their new show. Right now, it made him feel small. Of course the new kid would be wearing the station hoodie. It probably wasn’t cool at all. It was meant to be one of those things that he threw in the back of his cupboard, right? Not something that he was actually meant to wear. Like those hoodies with the school logo that parents bought and children never wore.

Patrick was wearing his station hoodie too, but Pete figured that was because he was an absolute living legend of this radio station, and had earned enough respect from his coworkers to wear whatever he pleased. Pete hadn’t earned anything like that yet.

“We’re on at, 8?” Pete asked nervously, glancing down at his watch.

“Yep.” Patrick nodded. 

“Okay…” He took a deep breath. Two hours. Two hours in this crazy, chaotic building. He could do that, right? He’d be a bit on-edge for his segment, but two hours wasn’t too bad. This wasn’t too much worse than school, and he’d been doing great at school recently.

He followed Patrick down the hall to the break room, and sat down in the corner while his boyfriend went to catch up with some other people he hadn’t seen in a while. Pete had been listening to this station for years, but pretty much just Patrick’s show. That show was the famous one, the one that was known nation-wide. He knew some people who listened to the other shows, but Pete was not one of them.

He didn’t know who any of these people were, and tried to focus on breathing rather than getting to know them. He prayed Patrick would leave him out of the conversations and wouldn’t try to include him. He was doing okay, but probably couldn’t handle any more.

Patrick did glance over at him at one point, to perhaps invite him into the conversation, but quickly understood that wasn’t the best idea and went back to what he was doing. It was a small action, but Pete was very grateful.

It was reaching the end of the work day for most of these people, and Pete was glad to see them pack up their things and wander out to their cars. It made walking through the building to Mark’s office all the much less harrowing, once all the crowds were gone.

Mark talked to them for a little while, about the sponsored segment they were running and how to present it. Patrick seemed to have a good grasp of this sort of stuff already. Pete tried to pay the best attention he could. He was already not having the best time at the station today, let alone if he stuffed up this very important segment.

He thought back to their first show, where he’d accidentally swore because he hadn’t read the rule book, and felt sick. He was never, ever going to make a mistake like that again.

Some electronics had been upgraded in their studio over the weekend. The headphones were nice, but now they had a touch-screen control panel, and full screens with playlist information, scripts, and all sorts of other things set up around the desk. 

Mark talked them through it. Pete just kept nodding and hoped that he’d leave soon enough.

When they were finally alone in their studio, Pete felt like he could finally breathe. Normally he was the one to get his boyfriend water, but today Patrick passed him his water bottle once he sat down on the station chair.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Pete breathed, putting a hand on his chest in the hopes it would slow down the racing speed of his heart. “I’m okay.”

“Okay.” Patrick nodded. “Take some time. We’re not on air for another half hour. Is there anything I can do?”

“I’ll be fine.” He mumbled in response. “I just, I need to chill out and stuff. I can just play on my phone for a while and I’ll be good.”

Pete had to admit that he’d been building the radio show up in his head for quite a while. He hadn’t really put too much thought into what it meant. Obviously, moving to more sociable hours meant that he had to be, well, more  _ social,  _ but he hadn’t figured out how that was going to translate into radio yet.

And it turned out that it really, really wasn’t that different.

Same studio, albeit with the addition of some new equipment, same co-host, it really just felt familiar. 

Sure, he wasn’t as tired as normal, and didn’t worry about falling asleep during his segment, but he also didn’t feel that pounding anxious energy keeping him awake. There were a few callers, especially during their promotional segment, but it wasn’t a big deal. Patrick led the first one, and then Pete was comfortable taking it on himself. The people on the phones were actually really easy to deal with, especially considering they’d been briefed by a producer.

Oh, and the producer. That was a weird concept at first, but considering that he was in another room entirely, Pete was coping surprisingly well with that. Plus, it meant that he hardly had to worry about the technical stuff.

Instead, he just got to focus on radio. On doing the thing that he loved, with the people that he loved. It was really, really fun, and he was so glad that it wasn’t the horrible thing that he’d built up in his head.

He was smiling when he left. A much bigger smile than he’d pictured. They didn’t even have to lock up the station anymore, they just waved to the new guys taking on the midnight show, and headed downstairs to the car.

“That was actually… really cool.” He smiled, unlocking the passenger door. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Patrick laughed. “This is what radio used to be like for me. Just, the  _ buzz  _ of it is so fun, y’know? Literally, this is the best job I could hope for. It’s just so much  _ fun. _ ”

Pete nodded in agreement. “I, I was really nervous going into it, and I wasn’t at school today because of it, but I just thought I needed to prepare myself for literal hell, but it was actually really, really cool. I’m okay with this. I can keep going with it.”

“You weren’t at school today?”

“You didn’t notice?”

“No, I just, I wasn’t at school either.” Patrick shrugged. “That sucks though, dude. Your attendance is nearly as bad as mine.”

“It’s okay. My family is understanding when it comes to that sort of stuff. And my attendance last week was probably the best it's ever been, so it was okay to take today off. It also meant I got to catch up on my assignment, and I got some more math done, so it was a win-win.”

“Yeah, okay.” Patrick answered uncertainly. “But, don’t use this as an excuse to skip, okay? I used to skip a lot for radio events, but then, y’know, got hit by a bus and I had to miss so much school and it’s just been hell. My attendance is pretty shit too, but I try and go as much as I can because I really, really don’t want to fall further behind.”

“Why are you bothering?” Pete asked curiously. “I mean, you’ve got a career down pat already, you’re already pretty famous, and it pays pretty damn well. You don’t really want to do anything else. So why are you trying with school?”

“I just want to finish it.” Patrick shrugged. “That and I… I have a scholarship to go and run a college radio station, but I have to actually finish school to qualify for it.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh huh.” Patrick blushed. “I haven’t told Mom about it. I don’t even know how college would work, I mean, I don’t think I can move out or anything, but I’d love to take it. I can’t make my family move again, but if my health improves, it would be really cool.”

Pete nodded. He hadn’t thought about college in a long time. When he was a kid, and used to play soccer, there was talk of playing soccer in the college leagues, but he hadn’t been playing in years. Recently, he’d taken to tennis, because there was a big concrete courtyard with a big wall on the back of his house where he could practice by himself.

He could practice up, but he doubted he’d ever earn a scholarship. He needed to actually play against other people for that.

College was probably a step too far anyway. He was making lots of progress with his therapist at the moment, and his new breathing techniques had saved him from a full-blown panic attack in the studio, but he still wasn’t at a state where he could even fathom the idea of moving away. Even the possibility of having a  _ roommate  _ was making his hands tremble, let alone going to any actual classes.

“Are you okay?” Patrick asked again. “You’ve been a bit out of it tonight, and you spaced out for like 5 minutes.” He leaned over and put a hand on top of Pete’s. “I’m not an asshole about this stuff if you want to talk about it.”

“Oh, I’m good.” Pete quickly adjusted his posture and started the car. “Sorry. I’ve just been thinking a lot.”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah. I feel that. What about?”

“Oh, just, nothing important.”

“ _ Pete. _ ”

Pete glanced over, and then quickly looked back to the road. “Just, the future, and stuff. My therapist and I have been talking a lot about plans and stuff, and it’s just a lot. I’m not very good at picturing anything beyond like, a week in the future.”

Patrick nodded in understanding. “Yeah. I don’t like thinking about the future either. But that’s okay, y’know? Obviously there’s a future, but you don’t have to focus on it. If you focus too much on it, then you don’t really get to enjoy taking things day by day. Trust me, I’ve been ignoring the future for like six months now.” He laughed awkwardly to finish the sentence, just to lighten it up.

“Yeah, I guess.” Pete sighed.

“Dude, your anxiety issues aren’t gonna be your life forever.” Patrick told him, a little more seriously. “You’ve improved so much since I  _ met  _ you, let alone how far away the future is. You should be really proud of yourself. And no matter what happens, you’re going to be fine. You’re an amazing guy, Pete, and an amazing boyfriend, and you’re too good to be worrying about this sort of stuff.”

Pete parked the car in Patrick’s driveway, and looked over at his boyfriend. Patrick could get caught up in his own stuff a lot of the time, and that was fair because his stuff was very serious and quite often a life or death matter, but today he was just looking at Pete with such love and worry and concern that Pete’s heart melted.

“I’m not as good as you think I am-“

“Yes, you  _ are. _ ” Patrick cut him off. “You’re amazing and I  _ love  _ you, Pete. Okay?”

Pete’s face turned a shade of crimson, and he shyly glanced at his lap. “I love you too.”

“You’re gonna have to lean over and kiss me because I can’t move.” Patrick chuckled, holding his arms out for an embrace.

Pete complied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for your love!! I appreciate you all so much!!! I hope you all have the most incredible day!! Lots of love!! <3


	19. Probably Should Be Paying Attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for your patience in waiting for a new chapter!! I've been working on this one for a very long time and it's far from perfect, but at least it's out! <3

The Late Night show was probably the very best thing that could have happened to Pete and Patrick.

Patrick, for one, adored it. It was everything he loved about radio, bundled up with everything he loved about Pete, and presented in a format that he could manage with his current school workload and physio schedule. It made him really, really happy, which was having good impacts on the rest of his life. He’d been better at school, talking to his old friends more, and feeling the most ‘himself’ since the accident.

Pete was also finding it to be the best thing since sliced bread. Sure, he was still getting a bit nervous at the rising viewer counts, but that was quickly mitigated by the fun of radio in the late night. Not to mention that he was getting a good sleep schedule back, which was doing wonders for his school attendance. Obviously he still had a lot of things that he was dealing with, but he was making it through most school days now, and that was a huge accomplishment for him.

Patrick had warned him about some of the weird side-effects of radio fame, but it didn’t stop Pete from being speechless when a person he’d never met before approached him outside the cafeteria with a “Hey, aren’t you the guy from the radio?”

“U-Uh, yeah?” Pete stammered nervously in response.

The boy smiled. “I loved your show last night. It was awesome. Can we take a photo?”

“A photo?”

“Is that okay?”

Pete swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. “Y-Yeah, yeah, that’s okay.”

He pulled out his phone, and Pete did his best to smile. The kid grinned as he took the selfie, and then tucked his phone away. “Your stuff is awesome. I love your show so much. Patrick talks most of the time, but you’re hilarious, dude. Definitely speak up more. The audience loves what you do.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He just thanked the kid profusely until he walked away.

He tried to get the event out of his head during the next few hours, but it just wouldn’t leave him. He tried to explain it to Patrick, who just chuckled and patted Pete’s hand softly.

“You can start getting used to that, I guess.”

“People knowing who I am?”

“It’s mostly just at school.” Patrick assured him. “A lot of the younger kids think we’re a lot more famous than we actually are. But it’s fine. Just take a photo and say thank you and move on.”

“It’s _weird_ though.”

“What, that people actually listen to our show? You’ve seen the listener numbers, Pete. We’re getting popular.”

“Well, I mean…” He thought about it. “That people care enough about the stupid jokes we make to want photos.”

“Yeah, it is a little bit.” Patrick shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. People like a good radio person. It’s like listening to a friend.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Patrick quickly changed the conversation with a smile. “I have news!”

“Oh, yeah?” Pete instantly smiled back. Patrick’s good moods were always infectious like that.

“I finally caught up in math! Carly says I’m back on track with everyone else now, so they want to integrate me back into the regular classes for the theory lessons!” Patrick beamed proudly. “And I got her to put me in your class, too!”

“That’s awesome!” Pete grinned, giving his boyfriend a high-five. “Wait, dude, my class is on the second story…”

Patrick attempted to pull his elevator key out with a swift movement, but ended up flicking it onto the floor with a disappointing ‘clink’. Pete just chuckled and picked it up. “Okay, cool.”

“I’m going to need your help with it though.” Patrick blushed as the key was returned to him. “The builders decided to put the key slot like, at your head height so I can’t reach it without another person.”

“That’s brilliant design, isn’t it?” He remarked sarcastically.

“Uh huh.” Patrick agreed. “But that’s okay?”

“Of course that’s okay!” Pete assured him. “Math shouldn’t be as bad if you’re there.”

“Okay, good.” Patrick nodded. “Come on, let’s go get some lunch. Are you good to sit with everyone today or do you want to go and sit somewhere else?”

It was the little things that Pete appreciated. Like the fact that Patrick didn’t assume how he was feeling before they picked a place to eat lunch. He always made sure to double check, so he didn’t accidently pull Pete into a situation that he couldn’t handle. It was always the little things that screamed love.

But Pete was good today, and so was the table of Patrick’s friends. Sure, he was still relatively new to this group, but they’d accepted him with open and loving arms. They fit together pretty nicely, he had to admit. They shared hobbies, good music taste, and the same sense of humour that he shared with his boyfriend. It made this group a little bit easier to be around. He liked them, and even though he had a long way to go, he was starting to get more comfortable, and that was a good feeling.

“You guys have Sunday off, right?” Brendon asked Pete and Patrick, interrupting the conversation about breakfast foods they’d been having.

“Uh huh.” Patrick nodded. “What are you planning?”

“I was thinking a movie night, y’know?” He grinned. “Dad did up the TV room and there’s like, a proper projector in there now, and it might be a good time. Sunday night, are you in?”

“Sounds good.” Pete nodded, pleased that there was no quiver in his voice.

Patrick bit his lip. “At your house?”

“Yeah!” Brendon nodded. “Mom said she’d get out the popcorn machine too.”

“I… I don’t think I can come.”

“What? Why not?”

“Brendon, you live in a split level.” Patrick explained awkwardly, while Brendon came to sudden realisation. “I… I can’t really get around that.”

“ _Oh._ ” He thought about it for a minute. “We could lift you! It’s only a couple of steps.”

Patrick quickly shut that down. “Um… I don’t think I’m comfortable with that. It’s okay though, you guys can go ahead. I’ll have exercises I need to do anyway.”

“Someone else could host?” Hayley suggested, glancing around the group. “There’s steps in my house but, does anyone have an accessible place?”

Patrick wasn’t surprised to see that nobody did, with the exception being him. Not many people expect to welcome a wheelchair into their home at some point, and most homes aren’t built to accommodate it. His old home certainly wasn’t. Pete’s house would work, Patrick supposed, but decided not to say anything. Pete probably wasn’t ready to invite these people into his home just yet.

“I can ask Mom if I can host.” Patrick rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I can’t guarantee she’ll agree.”

“That’s okay.” Brendon shrugged. “Maybe we should just go to the cinema instead.”

Patrick decided not to tell them at that moment that the cinema in their part of town wasn’t accessible either, and just shrugged. “Maybe. Let me talk to Mom. But I’m caught up in math! So I get to rejoin your math class now!”

“Isn’t that on-“

“The second story, yeah. But I got an elevator key, so it’s all good.” Patrick grinned, still quite proud of himself. He’d been a good six months behind, and it had only taken him about a month to cover all the new content. It was probably his biggest accomplishment since the accident, and he was going to milk it for what it was worth.

 

\-----

 

The school elevator was a bit old, and rattled slightly too much for it to be comfortable, but Patrick was quite relieved to be on the second story, and to be back in classes with Pete and the rest of his friend group.

It ended up being a little bit distracting too, he didn’t end up paying much attention to the actual math being taught. It was just nice to be surrounded by his peers again, rather than in a small office with just his tutor. Sure, he wasn’t allowed to hold hands with Pete during math class, but just knowing that he was next to him was comforting.

He was still on his high when the class finished and everyone else packed their books up. He quickly took some pain medication while Pete’s back was turned, and then smiled at him. “Geography now?”

“Uh huh.” Pete smiled. “How are you going with the assignment? I’m not sure I’m going to finish it by tonight. What’s the policy here? Is it due by the lesson or is it fine by the end of the day?”

“End of the day should be okay.” Patrick assured, leading his boyfriend out of the classroom and down the hall. “And the teachers were always pretty lenient with me because I used to do radio every afternoon. They really respect it for some reason. I can talk to her if you’d like?”

“It’s okay, I should get it done.” Pete shrugged. “I mean, with all the sleep we’ve been getting recently, it’s about time I had another late night.”

Patrick laughed at that. “Yeah, I’m glad we don’t do midnight anymore.”

The two were lost in conversation, and Patrick wasn’t really paying attention to where he was going. Sure, the elevator key was still tucked under his right leg, but that had slipped his mind. After all, last time he’d come out of that classroom, there was a specific route that he always took to get to his next class. Pete didn’t notice either, considering that this was the route that he normally took as well.

It wasn’t until Pete was about to take the first step down the stairs that he noticed they’d come the wrong way. He tried to throw his hands out to catch his boyfriend, but Patrick was already ahead of him, and he could only watch in horror.

_crash._

Pete raced down those stairs as fast as he possibly could. But in that moment, time stopped. His lungs tightened, and he could feel tears pricking his eyes, but they didn’t fall. He just raced to his boyfriend, and tried to do literally anything, because he was shaking so badly he doubted he could do anything at all.

“P-Patrick?” He whispered nervously. “Patrick?!”

His ears were ringing, but he heard the patter of footsteps as they raced down the hall to the scene. Brendon, Pete remembered his name being, and a girl too. And there was a teacher, thank god, but her face went white and she quickly bent down.

_You can’t touch him. He’s got a spinal injury. You don’t know if this fall has done that. Don’t touch him until the paramedics get here or you could kill him!_

Pete grabbed the teacher’s hands before she could grab the side of Patrick’s chair to bring it back upright. She protested, and yelled at him, but it fell on deaf ears as he tried to make sense of the situation.

Pete tried to control his breathing. He needed to talk to this woman. He needed to explain what was going on, what had happened, and why what she was about to do was possibly the dumbest thing that should could do, ever.

“Peter _Wentz_ -”

“D-Don’t, d-don’t, d-dd-d-” He took a deep breath, and clenched his eyes closed as he tried to focus on what was at stake here. “D-Don’t t-touch h-him!”

She paused.

“A-Ambulance!” He managed, shaking his hands as quickly as he could to try and relieve the adrenaline running through his veins. “Now!”

When she still didn’t say anything, he pointed at the pool of red that was seeping out onto the floor. “A-AMB-BULANCE!”

She called one.

Pete sat down beside his best friend and let the following panic attack ensue. He wanted so badly to run, run as fast as he possibly could, maybe to the bathrooms, maybe to the closet he’d found in the back of science lab B. But he couldn’t leave now. He had to talk to the paramedics - _oh god_ \- he needed to make sure that they didn’t do anything that would break his best friend anymore.

The paramedics would know what to do, he kept telling himself. He went over what he knew about Patrick’s injury, and tried to scribble it down on a piece of paper, but his hands were shaking too badly to form a coherent sentence.

“Pete?”

He pressed his fingertips into his hair and took a forced breath. “I-I-”

It was Brendon. Pete hoped that he didn’t want to start talking, as he was very clearly not-very-fine right now, but thankfully, the extent of Brendon’s actions was to gently lean over and hand him a water bottle.

He couldn’t form a work to thank him, but at least Brendon seemed to understand. He’d thank him some other time, when it all wasn’t so overwhelming and he was hardly seeing straight.

Eventually, he saw some blue scrubs running towards them, and he breathed a sigh of relief. His heart pounded significantly harder than it was designed to as he fumbled through the information he had to deliver, but at least it was out. Patrick was going to be okay. He’d done it, right?

He could hardly watch as they slowly unclipped him from his chair and fitted him to the stretcher. They gave him a neck brace, no surprise there, and quickly took him down the hall, leaving his chair on the ground where it had fallen.

The teacher turned to him, a strange expression on her face. “What are you doing? Go with them.”

And Pete did.

 

\--------

 

The whole world, including himself, was filled with clouds.

They were in his vision, the bright whiteness diluting anything going on around him. They were in his ears, muffling the noise of slow, repetitive beeping and some voices saying things that he didn’t quite understand. They were even in his brain, muddying up his thoughts and memories that might have lead to any clarification as to where he was or how he got here.

The first sensation that seemed to register was a sensation on his hands. He glanced down slightly. His vision was still fuzzy, but there were hands that were holding his. Slightly smaller, more delicate with long nails. He blinked, slowly, and when they were still there, he glanced up towards their owner.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He recognised the voice, and blinked again and she gently brushed some hair off his forehead. “There you are.”

“He’s awake?” There was another voice in the distance.

“Just waking up. Give him a few minutes. Call a nurse.” His Mom responded, before quickly turning her attention back to him. “Welcome back, pumpkin.”

Patrick blinked. “Mom.”

“That’s right baby, I’m here.” She wore a warm smile to reassure him, and Patrick felt his lungs inflate.

He put a hand on his neck to find a familiar plastic tube, but his Mom gently pulled his hand away before he had a chance to tug at it. “Leave that, pumpkin. You need that. It’s okay, just take some time to adjust, you’re okay.”

 

——

 

He didn’t see Pete for a few hours. He slowly came to his senses, realised that he was in the hospital (albeit he didn’t know why), and let the doctor shine some lights in his eyes and order a few tests.

He didn’t mind. His Mom was sitting on the chair beside his bed, letting him ramble about all sorts of things while the drugs clouded his thought process. His stepfather was here too, but he was sitting on the other side of the room, and talked to the nurses sometimes, and the doctors.

“ _Pete._ ” He told his Mom as soon as he remembered his amazing boyfriend, who he had also suddenly realised he missed incredibly much. “Where’s Pete?”

“Pete’s at school right now, sweetheart. I sent him a message and let him know you’re up. He’ll drop by after. Okay?”

“But we have _work_ tonight!”

She chuckled softly. “I know. You’re not well enough to go to work tonight, but that’s okay. Pete’s a big boy, he can do it by himself with your producer.”

“But _Mom_!”

“No, Patrick. No work for you. Just getting better.” 

He huffed and folded his arms. The tube in his neck protested that action, and he grabbed at it again. It wasn’t a terrible thing, it didn’t hurt to have in, but it was frustrating to have it. Normally, when he talked, his breathing would fit itself to his speech pattern. In this set up, he had to make sure he talked to the same rhythm as his breathing or he wouldn’t get his words out right.

“No, no, we’re leaving that _right_ where it is.” Patricia pulled his hand away from it for a second time. “No touching.”

“I don’t _like_ it.”

“I know. But you _need_ it, and it’s not coming out until the doctor says so.”

“But _Pete_!”

“Pete’s not going to mind.” She assured him.

“I can’t _kiss_ him if I’ve got, tube!” He whined, still very clearly affected by the drugs.

Patricia chuckled in response to that. “No kissing for you, well, at least not until you’re out of the ICU. Just gotta get better first.”

“That’s not _fair_ Mom!”

“I know, pumpkin.” Her tone turned slightly more somber for a minute. “It’s not. But you’ll be fine and can kiss as much as you want. You just have to get better first.”

 

——

 

Patrick was only allowed 2 visitors in the ICU. He could have 2 adults at any one time, but no more to avoid overcrowding. So when Pete got to the hospital after school finished, Paul had to go downstairs to hand the sticker over. Patricia went too, to go and get some food with her husband, but also to allow the two a little bit of privacy.

Hey, she might be a Mom now, but she was young once too.

Pete wasn’t new to this. He’d come to visit every single day since the fall, and wouldn’t dare not to. He’d seen his boyfriend unconscious on the bed every day, and had slowly become used to it. To see him in such a vulnerable position, clinging to life with the help of a few tubes, was really hard, but he’d learned to be grateful for it, especially considering how close Patrick had come to the alternative.

But today, as he wandered in to the same hospital room, Patrick was waiting for him with open arms and the largest smile that Pete had ever seen on him.

“Pete!”

He was careful with the hug. Patrick was awake now, but he still looked so small and vulnerable in this room, especially with all the clunky machines surrounding him. Pete was careful not to tug on anything, not to move anything, and not to squeeze his boyfriend too tightly either.

Patrick didn’t follow the same protocol, and squeezed Pete as tight as he could manage. “I’ve _missed_ you!”

“I’ve missed you too.” Pete grinned, pulling back gently to look at that beautiful face again. “I’ve missed you so _much!”_

Patrick patted a space on the bed beside him, longing for the comfort that he enjoyed when they used to nap together in his bed at home. Pete just hesitantly shook his head, and pulled the visitor’s chair closer.

“C’mon, _please_?”

“Not while you’re in the hospital. Once you’re home.” Pete chuckled softly. “I just don’t want to hurt you. Or tug on anything that I’m not supposed to.”

Patrick folded his arms. “I don’t care.”

“I know. But I do.”

“ _Plleeeaaassseee?”_

Pete laughed at that. “I love you, but I’m just gonna sit right here, okay? I’m probably closer to you this way, anyway.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek as proof.

Patrick giggled at the sudden affection, and seemed to take that as a fair trade. “Okay, okay.”

Pete sighed softly, pretty much in relief. He’d been so worried about his boyfriend, and how he’d react once he woke up. But this Patrick was so high on the other pain medicine they’d given him that he was just a big ball of giggles. That, and his Mom probably hadn’t told him the details yet.

But that was fair enough. Ignorance was bliss. Especially when it came to this situation.

“I don’t want you to go to work.” Patrick mumbled, leaning his head over to Pete’s side. “I want you to stay here.”

“I know. I don’t want to go to work either.”

“Don’t go then!” 

“You know I have to. Who else is going to be on the radio in our slot if we’re both here?”

Patrick thought about it. “Socks?”

Pete laughed. “I’m sure the listeners would like that, but Socks isn’t at the station, and I don’t think he’d make the best programming. I just have to go for a little while, but I’ll be back tomorrow morning, first thing.”

“No school?”

“It’s a Saturday.”

Patrick smiled at that. “And there’s no work on Saturday!”

Pete laughed. “Yes, that’s true.”

Pete spent a while just listening to Patrick and his slightly-bizarre rants (fueled by whatever was in his drip, no doubt). It was nice to just be able to talk to him, to listen to his voice, rather than sit by him in a completely silent room. He hoped this would never happen again, though. Especially considering Patrick still had no idea about the uncertain future ahead.

It was only as Pete was starting to pack up to get ready to leave that he started to ask some questions.

“Do you know why I’m in the hospital, Pete?”

“Yeah.” He answered, turning away to shove his sweater back in his bag. “You had a bit of a fall.”

“Fall?” He thought about it. “Like out of my chair?”

“No, you were in your chair. We were at school, and I think we both didn’t realise where we were, and there was a staircase.”

“ _Huh._ ”

Pete nodded. “But it’s alright. You’re going to be fine. Just need a little bit of recovery first.”

“Mom keeps saying that too.”

Pete grimaced. “Yeah. You got hurt pretty bad. I think she just wants to look after you.”

Patrick furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, and looked down at his lap. “Hurt bad? How?”

“Look, I’m…” Pete took a deep breath. “Maybe this is a conversation you should have with your Mom?”

He looked up. “Tell me, Pete.”

Pete gulped. He couldn’t lie to his boyfriend. He had to be honest. It wasn’t fair otherwise.

“You, um…” He sat back down on the chair beside him. “So, you landed on your right side and dislocated that shoulder, and it’s going to need a lot of rehab, and you got a bit roughed up by the carpet, which is why there’s all the bandages here, but that’s okay, that’s no worries. What’s the big deal is when you hit your head.”

“Head?”

“Fractured skull. It’s going to be okay, the doctors don’t think there’s any permanent damage, but it’s a long road back.” Pete admitted finally. “It just means that you’ll have to go through all rehab again and you’re finally going to need to get an electric chair.”

“Oh.” Patrick stared down at his hands. He thought they were the same as last time, but watching his fingers now proved otherwise.

The first thing they’d gotten him to do in rehab (well, the first time around) was squeeze his hand into a fist. He tried now, to try and disprove whatever Pete was saying, but the tips of his fingers were only just curling in. Nothing like a fist.

_Oh, boy._

“You’re going to be fine.” Pete repeated. “It’s going to take a little while, but you’re okay. The only other thing is that the hospital found your painkiller thing. You had way too much in your blood when you were brought in, and they’ve started weaning you off.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Pete winced. “It just means that they can’t give you any other opioids while you’re dealing with this. So no morphine. Just the other drugs. You might have a bit of pain, but apparently they’re going to manage that the best they can.”

“That’s okay.” Patrick responded uncertainly. “I can work with that.”

Pete nodded, pain visible in his smile. “Exactly. You’re going to be just fine.”


End file.
